The Secret Life of Us
by HappyMonday
Summary: The wrestling world is full of women determined to enter the WWE and shake up the women's division. Rachel Cook isn't one of them. She just wants to 'rassle. And make friends. And…maybe…possibly…fall in love?
1. Chapter 1

**THE SECRET LIFE OF US**

**The wrestling world is full of women determined to enter the WWE and shake up the women's division. Rachel Cook isn't one of them. She just wants to 'rassle. And m****ake friends. And…maybe…possibly…fall in love?**

_**Chapter One: It started with an elbow drop…**_

**March 1987**

For her, it began on 29th March 1987. Wrestlemania III. She was four years old.

Her elder brother, Paul, and her were sleeping over at their Grandparents house that night. Grandpa was pretty wound up and excited by the time they arrived. All he could talk about whilst they ate their dinner was some guys named "Hulk Hogan" and "Andre the Giant" and how "Hogan" was gonna beat "that gigantic tub of lard" and retain the championship. She didn't have a clue what the old man was gibbering on about but his excitement rubbed off on her and Paul so much so that when Granny decided it was their bedtime, Grandpa waved her away and told her "They can stay up and watch it". They had no idea what 'it' was but they were over the moon at being allowed to stay up late.

They snuggled up on the sofa, under one of Granny's crotched blankets, with a small table in front of them that held an array of juice, sweets and finger food that their Grandmother had set out before taking herself off to her bedroom to do some reading. She wasn't a fan of the sport.

As soon as the event began, the kids were hooked. Unsure of who was who and what was really going on, this being the first time they had ever seen the show, they simply cheered when Grandpa cheered and booed when he booed. On several occasions, Grandpa had gotten so caught up in the action that he had literally stood up and smacked the TV whilst shouting things at it that were, quite frankly, not fit to be heard by a four and a six year old.

They watched as The Hart foundation defeated The British Bulldogs - Grandpa was not happy about that. They saw Harley Race pin The Junkyard Dog and Butch Reed beat Koko B Ware. While her brother lapped up the actions of The Dream Team, she was enthralled with the antics of the loud, brash (and who she thought was legitimately Scottish ) character of Rowdy Roddy Piper as he stood toe to toe with Adrian Adonis. But shortly after that, she was absolutely blown away by "Macho Man" Randy Savage. Maybe it was the colourful combination of his pink trunks and yellow boots (her two favourite colours) that got her attention. Or maybe it was his loud, booming, hard not to be moved by it, entrance music Pomp and Circumstance that she was enraptured by. But whatever it was that initially piqued her interest she found herself firmly rooting for The Macho Man Randy savage.

After almost fifteen minutes of watching with bated breath and sitting on the edge of her seat (knocking over the contents of the food table on more than one occasion), the referee finally hit the mat, _1,2,3_ and Ricky Steamboat won the match and was the new Intercontinental Champion.

She burst into tears. She was literally howling. Macho Man should've won. She was sure of it. It wasn't fair. He should've won. He had been robbed.

Granny came trotting back downstairs at the commotion and after taking one look at her granddaughter, her decision was made. "Bed time" she announced to the youngsters and hustled them out of the room and up to bed.

She tucked them in then crouched down beside her granddaughter, who's sobs had began to subside.

"Oh Granny it was so unfair," the four year old choked out, "Macho man should've won. He was much better than The Dragon man….MUCH better. He should still be Champion." she wailed.

"Shoosh shoosh wee one." she patted her back. "He'll win it back, they always do" she told her knowingly. Well, after years of being forced to watch the sport with her husband, she pretty much knew how it all panned out. "Calm yourself down pet, there's no use in crying over spilt milk." she soothed. "It was just a game. Now let yourself just forget about all that nonsense and go to sleep."

"Granny….." the little girl sat up as her Gran was about to exit the room "Do ladies wrestle too?"

"Aye," the old lady nodded, "I've seen a few of the ladies wrestle. But its certainly not very ladylike."

"I want to be a wrestler when I grow up Granny" little Rachel Cook announced determinedly.

"Don't be getting no funny ideas wee one" she groaned as she left the room and switched off the light. She made her way downstairs, her tongue ready to hand out a verbal thrashing to her dottery old fool of a husband for putting silly notions into their Granddaughters head.

_Wrestler indeed, _she thought to her self as she rolled her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2: We are who we choose to be!**_

**September 2005**

_Okay…..breathe!_ she willed herself, taking a deep breath in and exhaling slowly.

Her feet were rooted to the spot on a pavement across the street from the building she had been staring at intently for the past twenty minutes or so, willing herself to just suck it up and head inside it. But, of course, it was easier said than done.

For eighteen years she had been dreaming of coming here. For six of those years, she had been working her ass off and training hard to even be allowed to walk through those doors. She had never held, what her parents deemed a "proper" job and had opted instead to travel from city to city in order to compete for a ridiculously low amount of cash. She had also flew to various other countries, including Japan where she had ate nothing but rice and noodles for weeks in a bid to save cash to get to where she is right now.

She'd done it all with minimal support from her family. Sure, they accepted what she was doing, but to be honest they had no other choice. At four years old her mind had been made up. Her Mum and Gran blamed her Grandpa. Even to this day, when the old man had been in his grave for near on twelve years, one of them was sure to utter the words "Your Grandpa has a lot to answer for" when she told them anything about what she was up to.

She wished her Grandfather were alive to see just how far she'd come. After her Gran had told him about her declaration to become a wrestler back in 1987 he had openly encouraged her to pursue her dream, despite her very young age. He'd let her practice head locks and clothes lines on him and had allowed her to use their sofa in order to mimic her hero's infamous elbow drop onto a pile of cushions. He would record _Superstars of Wrestling _and _Saturday Nights Main Event_ so that when she came to stay with them every second weekend, they could veg out together and get lost in the world of professional wrestling. When they had ran out of tapes to watch, he would tell her old stories about the sport, not just about the WWF (now WWE) but about other promotions too, including ones in Scotland, where they lived. Her head span with that information. If there were wrestling shows in her own country, there was nothing that could stop her from becoming a wrestler.

She reached for the chain that was around her neck, and closed her eyes. It had once belonged to him and when he passed away her grandmother had given it to her as a keepsake. She rarely took it off.

She prayed that right at this very moment, her Grandpa was smiling down at her, thoroughly proud of what she had accomplished so far in her career. She only wished that he was here right now to give her the kick up the butt she really needed.

"Need someone to hold your hand?" a raspy voice muttered closely in her ear, interrupting her daydreaming and causing her to jump and yelp with fright.

Turning quickly she was greeted by a familiar face.

"Punk" she hugged him, then awkwardly remembered that she barely knew the man and swiftly withdrew her hands from around his neck. "Sorry….I was a bit…um….."

"Relieved to see a familiar face?" he smiled crookedly.

"Uh yeah…" she flushed.

"Women throw themselves at me all the time" he quipped with a wave of his hand "I'm used to it. But just a word from the wise….don't let my girlfriend catch ya at it. She's a red head with the disposition to match it" he warned.

"Fiesty girlfriend. Got it!" she smiled at him.

"So, how long have you been standing _here_, staring over _there_?" they both turned to look in the direction to which he pointed..

"Longer than I dare even admit" she shrugged, trying to shake off her apprehension. He chuckled.

"Well, just so you know, the current record is held by yours truly. Two hours and fifty one minutes." he boasted as they continued to watch the building.

"Impressive".

"Yep. So I know how you feel." he turned to her.

"Scared shitless," she confessed continuing her staring contest with the entrance on the opposite side of the road.

"Sums it up" he nodded in agreement.

"And I really need to pee"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, then. I guess it's time you got your ass in there." he cupped her elbow and gestured for her to lead the way.

She took one more deep breath, then cautiously made her way towards the doors of Ohio Valley Wrestling.

...

After a seemingly successful first training session, she grabbed a towel and went to take a shower. Her vest was absolutely drenched with sweat, which was more to do with the fact that she was not used to the climate of the country, rather than to do with how hard she had worked out. It was a factor, of course, but being Scottish, she wasn't used to the weather reaching such high temperatures, particularly in September. Back home, they only got about three weeks of Summer sunshine a year - and that was on a good year. Mostly it rained. Like, a lot.

When she flew out from Glasgow on Tuesday, she'd been wearing her rain mac and boots. Luckily, she had packed a pair of flats in her carry on, to slip into on the plane, because as soon as she exited Louisville International Airport, she was engulfed in a heat wave. Knowing that there was no way that she would make it to the accommodation in her current attire without passing out from heat exhaustion, she promptly re-entered the airport and made for the ladies room. She rummaged about in her suitcase and pulled out one of her training vests before stuffing her socks, shirt, mac, hoodie and Wellingtons back into it. She pulled the vest over her head, rolled her jeans up to make them three quarter lengths, slipped her ballerina pumps back on and pulled her hair up on top of her head to prevent it sticking to her neck.

Minutes later, she stepped back outside the airport, feeling just a little bit fresher than before - well, as fresh as one could be after having just suffered a twelve hour flight (including two stop over's). She made her way to hail a cab, and once inside, gave the driver her new address, reading it aloud from the email forwarded to her from one of the agents at the wrestling school.

To say she was nervous about her new abode would be an understatement. She'd had no part in arranging it at all, it was all handled through an agent at OVW. She didn't know what the apartment looked like, whether it was clean and actually suitable for habitation, or worse yet - she didn't even know who her room mates would be. All she knew was that she was soon to be living with three other girls she knew nothing about, and that was it.

The driver pulled up in front of a slightly shabby apartment block. He lifted her suitcase from the trunk, left it on the pavement, took her money and left. All without uttering a single word to her.

"Welcome to America" she muttered sarcastically under her breath, hoping that her flatmates would be a little more welcoming.

She made her way into the building and rang for the elevator to take her to her floor. When she exited, she took a left and made her way along the corridor, finally stopping outside the number that corresponded to that on the email. Taking a deep breath, she rapped on the door. Within seconds, it opened.

"Hi," a pretty blonde greeted her.

"Hi, I'm Rachel….I..uh…think I'm you're new room mate?"

"Oh hi. Come in. Let me help you…." The blonde effortlessly lifted her suitcase and brought it inside. "I'm Beth" she turned and shook Rachel's hand. "I'm afraid, I'm the only one in at the moment, the other two are out getting some food."

"Nice to meet you Beth. It's fine, I'm sure I'll meet them soon enough," she replied tiredly, the long journey finally catching up with her now she'd reached her new "home".

"Are you Irish?" Beth quizzed, catching her accent.

"Scottish."

"Oh wow, I've never met a Scotch person before…"

"Scottish," she cut in quite abruptly.

"Excuse me?"

"We're Scottish, not Scotch…"

"Oh. Okay" Beth responded awkwardly.

"Sorry," she sighed, noting Beth's uneasiness, "I didn't mean to sound narky. Its been a long couple of days," she explained.

"Don't worry about it. I get it all the time being part Polish. Folk keep calling us Poles, so I totally get where your coming from" she smiled, making Rachel feel at ease with her. "So how about I give you a quick tour, show you where your room is and then you can take a nap or freshen up or…whatever….you must have had a pretty long flight."

"I'd love a bath." she admitted.

"Great, well….this is obviously the lounge," she threw both her hands out to indicate the room they were already standing in. "And that is the kitchen…" she pointed at the back of the room which had been separated from the sitting room with a breakfast bar. "We don't particularly use it that much, other than for breakfast….oh" the phone had started ringing, "Excuse me" she said to Rachel as she made her way to answer it. "Hello? Oh….um yeah, she's just arrived, I'll put her on….." she held the phone out for Rachel "It's for you?"

"Me? Who is it?" she didn't even know the number herself, so for someone to be calling her there already, completely bewildered her.

"No idea. Some guy" Beth shrugged.

"Hello?" she asked tentatively as she took the phone from Beth.

"Well if it isn't my favourite Scot," drawled the voice of her (currently) only American friend causing a grin to breakout across her weary face.

"Scott, It's so good to hear you voice." she told him. "How did you get this number though? Even I don't know it yet."

"Punk gave it to me. He heard from Serena that you were their new room mate."

"Oh okay. Who's Serena?"

"Like I said one of your new roomies. Serena Deeb. She's pretty cool. Knows her shit." he informed her, "So how was the flight?"

"_Long,_" she yawned, emphasising her point. "Where are you? Are you gonna come and visit me?"

"More than likely, I'm down there all the time visiting Punk. I would've been down there this week to meet you if our friend Bobby wasn't getting married back here in Chi-Town." he explained. "Rach?" The line had went silent.

"I'm here." she cleared her throat. "Just feeling a little overwhelmed right now. I wish you could've made it down. I'm a little freaked out. I don't know a single soul out here."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could've been down there too, it's just bad timing I guess. I know how you feel though, when I first came over to the UK I was in your shoes. Luckily for me, I'm quite the character and made friends pretty fast. And you will to, 'cause _you_, my little friend, are also quite the character" he stated causing her to laugh out loud. "Listen, the girls you're sharing with, Beth, Kim and Serena, they're great chicks, you'll get on fine with them. And Punk will be back by the time you start on Monday. My boy will look out for you." he promised.

"Okay. Thank you."

"Just take a shower and get some sleep. You'll feel a lot better once you've slept that journey off. I promise I'll be down there as soon as I get the chance."

"Good, I can't wait to see you. Or Punk. I haven't seen him in over a year."

"Well, he hasn't change a bit."

"Still a cocky little fuckwit with an ego the size of Europe?"

He laughed, "Like I said, he's never changed. Hey, I gotta go, sexy lady. Need to go buy the happy couple a wedding gift. Will call you soon, okay?"

"Okay, see ya later CC" she said, reverting back to her old nick name for him.

"Take care Rach." he replied and hung up.

After she had gotten off the phone, Beth continued with the "tour" but noticing how worn-out her new room mate looked, cut it short and quickly showed her to her room. It was pretty basic- bed, wardrobe and bedside chest with a table lamp but Rachel didn't care, she knew she could easily enough put her own stamp on the room.

When she found the energy that is.

"Okay, so how about you take yourself off for that bath and I'll make up your bed for you so that when you get out you can just fall right into it and go to sleep?" Beth offered.

"That would be great, thanks Beth." she replied, "I just have to go get my stuff"

"Hey just use my soap and shit….its all in the bathroom in a bright green vanity box. Use whatever you need and I'll haul your cases up for when you get out."

"Beth….don't spoil me too much, I might just get way to used to it." she joked.

"Don't even think of getting used to it, 'cause it don't happen very often little lady" she wagged a finger at her, "Go on, have your bath" she shooed her through to the bathroom.

After an hour or so of soaking in the bath, she finally got out. Too tired by this point to even look in her case properly, she just grabbed a t-shirt, slipped it on and climbed into bed. And that is where she stayed for the next sixteen hours.

The following days consisted mostly of more sleep, unpacking, introductions to her other room mates and even more sleep. Jet lag was a bitch. She rarely left the house for the remainder of the week, save the odd trip to get some groceries, and spent quite a lot of her time in her room, wishing she was some place else. Namely, back home in Edinburgh. The homesickness almost killed her sanity.

But now, as she sat in the locker room of OVW surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the rest of the roster and listened to their banter, she knew she'd made the right choice. She was only a few steps away from living the dream.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3: Just keep swimming….**_

**January 2006**

The months that followed her arrival, were the most challenging Rachel had ever experienced. She was constantly fatigued, lonely and overwhelmingly homesick.

Each day she'd set her alarm for 5am so that she could go for a run before training. In America, you could run without people gawping at you like you were some sort of weirdo. By 7am when her room mates had surfaced, she'd be showered, breakfasted and raring to get to OVW. From nine 'til five, they'd work their butts of at the training school, taking bump after bump, practising move upon move. After lunch, they'd each hit the gym for a while, then after that, they'd return to practise. She'd return home in the evening, grab something to eat, then if they didn't have a show on that night, she'd just take a long hot bubble bath and go straight to bed.

On the rare occasion when her room mates succeeded in persuading her to go out with them, she'd stay for a couple of hours, then wait until they were drunk enough to not notice her sneaking out the club. It wasn't for her, the club scene, and never had been. All she had ever been interested in was wrestling - training and working out.

Sometimes, Punk would meet her for coffee, but he was fast becoming the top star at OVW (despite only having got a contract a month prior to her) and he had little time to spare. What time he did have he mostly spent with his girlfriend, Maria, or visiting his friends and family back home in Chicago, so she appreciated the time he took out of his hectic schedule to pay her any kind of attention. It was on Scott's instruction no doubt, but she appreciated it all the same. They barely knew each other, and had only ever met twice before she had come to OVW, when he had flew over to England to visit Scott, who was on tour with 1PW at the time, like Rachel.

During his short stint at the promotion, where he performed under his ring name Colt Cabana, Scott and Rachel had grown pretty close after she was given the "position" as his valet. Because the money wasn't great, it made sense for them to travel together and split the cost, rather than to fork out two separate fuel bills. Actually, even if the money had been great, they would have more than likely still car pooled - it was just how things were done in their line of work.

It was during the first of their many, many car trips that they realised they both shared the same love for cheesy old wrestling tunes, had the same wacky sense of humour and most of all they both harboured a deep passion for the business that went way beyond the pomp and circumstance of it all. They were wrestlers, but at heart, they were wrestling fans. Scott was a willing listener to Rachel's re-telling's of her Grandpas old stories and she, in turn, loved hearing all about ROH and all the guys that Scott had worked with on the American Indy circuit, including his best friend CM Punk.

When Punk visited the first time, Scott had been eager to introduce them. They'd went for dinner and the boys had chatted all night long, catching up and regaling Rachel with stories of their training years together with Ace Steel. She didn't really say much, just sat back, listened and took it all in. She just loved hearing their Indy stories.

The second time he came out, three months later, he had came and watched a show where Rachel and Scott had been involved in a mixed tag match. Afterwards, when they went out for something to eat, he had praised both Scott and Rachel with regards to their in ring performances earlier that night. His attitude towards the tiny Scot had done a complete one eighty from the first time he'd met her, when he saw her as nothing more than Cabana's arm candy. After witnessing her ability as a wrestler and actually taking the time to talk to her, he thought of her as one of them.

Shortly after she had first arrived at OVW, Rachel had discovered that most of the roster already knew all about her, because ever since Punk had heard she had signed a contract there, he had been biggin' her up as the best thing since sliced bread. Happy as she was that she had obviously garnered some respect from Punk, she couldn't help but also be embarrassed by his proclamations. It was a lot to live up to and she was pretty sure some of the her female team mates were already waiting for her to fall flat on her face and fail.

But, four months in and she was doing well on the wrestling front. Well, sort of. The bookers had wasted no time, after witnessing some of the stuff she could do, in getting her kitted out and on the shows. She started, like most of the females, as a back stage interviewer, questioning the talent before or after a match, but lately she'd been given the chance to actually get in the ring and do what she loved most and more often than not, she went over in a match.

Currently, the top two females were OVD and Beth, who sporadically disappeared for days at a time to do appearances on Raw. As much as she respected and admired the work of these women, she was impatient to be given the opportunity to compete at their level and get the chance to snag the Women's Championship for herself.

Sometimes, she thought she would never get there, but other days, mostly after she'd had a tete-a-tete with Punk and he'd given her ego a sufficient boost, she knew that with practice and patience, her time would come eventually.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter 4: Motivation is what gets you started. Habit is what keeps you going._**

**February 2006**

She was in the kitchen one Sunday morning, making coffee when the phone rang. Not wanting it to waken her room mates who had been out partying the night before, she hurried over to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Rach, its Punk."

"Hey, what's up?" she asked.

"Nothing much. Listen. I just spoke to Derek the booker at OVW and we've sort of formed a plan for how to use you." he informed her.

"Use me?" she queried.

"Yeah. Use you. You're a wasted talent competing in dark matches. You should be on your way to the top of the womens roster" he stated.

"Okay, What's your plan?"

"You're gonna be my valet."

"Uh….isn't Maria you're valet?"

"No, Maria _was_ my valet, she's gone up to the Raw roster full time as off tomorrow night, hence the reason I need a new valet."

"Oh…..okay"

"Well you better watch it there kid, your enthusiasm may just be contagious" he remarked sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, just trying to get my head round this. I mean….are you sure? You want me as your valet? I really don't think you even need a valet….you're good enough as it is"

"Enough with the gushing" he jested, "And I'm totally down with it. Its only for a short time, to give you a push in the right direction and get your face on the map. Listen, Rach, I wouldn't do this for anybody else in that company but Cabana would have my balls for Hanukah if I didn't try and help you somehow. And I know you're good. You can handle it. I laid the idea out to Derek and he's all for it."

"It sounds awesome. Thanks"

"Don't thank me until you hear the rest of my wicked plan. Come on over to mine this afternoon and we'll discuss"

"Okay, I'll see you then Punk"

"See ya….oh and Rach?"

"Yeah?"

"You're okay with partial nudity and tons of sexual innuendo, right?"

...

After a long and tiring afternoon of discussion with Phil, Rachel's tummy began to rumble, reminding her that she hadn't actually eaten all day. It was now 7.30pm.

"Okay, I'd best go. I need to get some food in me belly and rest before training tomorrow." she stood up getting ready to leave.

"Wait. I was just gonna order a pizza. Stay and eat my left overs." he offered, too hyped up with the proposal of a new storyline that he didn't want spending the rest of the evening on his own. Maria had already left to head to Calgery for Raw.

"Tempting." she put on a show of considering his "offer".

"Okay fine, I'll order a 14" and we can share. What do ya want on it?" he picked up the phone to call for a delivery.

"Whatever." she shrugged. "But not pineapple or anhovies" she made a face of disgust.

"One 14" with extra pineapple _and _anchovies coming right up" he joked as he dialled the number.

Once he placed his order, he went to the kitchen and brought them back a pepsi each.

"Don't you have any coke?" she asked.

"Don't curse at me in my own home woman," he scolded her.

"You don't like coke?"

"Is that a trick question?" he asked as he scratched his head, "You have met me before, right?"

"Punk….What on Gods green earth are you talking about?"

Instead of answering her, he simply lifted his shirt sleeve and showed her his tattoo.

"You have a pepsi tattoo," she informed him.

"Yeah, I know! I was there when I got it."

"_Why_?"

"It's a straight edge thing," he waved a hand dismissively, "You obviously haven't been paying enough attention to me in my matches if you missed it."

"Oh I pay attention alright. But I'm completely distracted by your superior 'rasslin' skills that I fail to notice your….um….body art."

"Good save," he laughed, "Anyway, back to the original discussion….you don't like Pepsi?"

"I like pepsi, I just prefer coke," she answered, "Where I'm from, if the waiter offers you a pepsi, you retaliate by asking him if they accept monopoly money."

"I don't get it," he frowned.

"Fake money for their fake coke," she explained simply.

"Well, for that remark, you can pay for your half of the pizza." he smirked.

"I intended to pay for it anyway." she informed him.

"Okay, if we're gonna be working together you need to know two things….a) all I drink is Pepsi and b)…..well, there is no b, there's only a. But be sure to remember it." he raised his can and toasted the air before gulping it down in one go.

"Will do." she replied "And whilst we're sharing, there is something you need to know about me too."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Im crazy addicted to Starbucks vanilla cream café lattes. Need at least two a day to keep the engine running." she told him.

"So we understand each other then?" he held his hand out for her to shake.

"Hell yeah" she shook it, laughing.

"So…fancy watching a DVD?" he asked.

"Sure, whatcha got?"

"I got the new Roddy Piper box set this weekend?" he suggested.

"Put it on already." she demanded excitedly. Roddy Piper was as close to God as Randy Savage in her books.

"You sound like a Jewish housewife sometimes. Those few months you spent with Cabana have cleary had a lasting effect. " he rolled his eyes.

"Well, you sound like a douch bag sometimes. But I forgive you" she shrugged as she got comfortable on his sofa.

"Touché" he nodded to her.

They spent the evening, watching the entire box set, eating pizza and talking about their up and coming storyline together. When Phil, eventually started yawning, Rachel, once more attempted to leave and go home, only to be stopped. yet again, by him offering her his sofa bed for the night.

"You can shower here in the morning and wear something of mine, then we'll stop at your place on the way to training so you can grab your own things."

"Okay, thanks"

"Wanna thank me? Buy me one of them vanilla things your obsessed with. They sound like they'd rot your teeth in seconds. Can't wait to try it out" he pulled out the bed and unfolded the sheets that were already squished between the matress and the sofa cushions. He went to his room and returned moments later, tossing a t-shirt to her as he walked.

"I heart Bacon?" she asked, holding it up.

"A present from 'bana."

"Okay. That explains nothing."

"Just a joke with him and some of our ROH cronies. I'll explain another day. I'm off to toss n turn all night long in a bid to catch a few hours z's. See ya." he waved as he returned to his room and closed the door.

"Night John Boy" she hollered through the door.

"G'nite Mary Ellen." the faint reply came. She giggled as she changed into his t-shirt and got herself into bed.

Today was the first day since she'd arrived in America that she hadn't thought of home.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5: Do. Or do not. There is no "try".**_

**March 2006**

The following weeks, just flew past and Rachel found that she had less and less time to herself, which meant she spent a minimal amount of time dwelling on the fact that she was lonely and homesick. In fact, she was far from it.

Being Punks new valet, didn't just mean turning up to a show several times a week and performing alongside him, it meant, **literally **working with him the whole time they spent at OVW. She would train with him, workout with him, go to meetings with him and any networking that he did, then she was right by his side doing it too. A whole new world had opened up to her - it was fun and exciting and for the first time since she arrived six months ago, she was catching just a tiny glimpse of what it would be like to be a fully fledged WWE Diva. And the fact that she was experiencing it all with Punk, the only person she had known at OVW prior to getting her developmental contract, made the experience so much sweeter.

She found their relationship a funny one. Unlike her friendship with Scott, where they had plenty of things in common, her and Punk were polar opposites and the only interest they seemed to share was their passion for wrestling. He was fiercely into the straight edge and punk rock scenes whereas she was more of a cheesy chart music gal who enjoyed a nice glass of wine or two. She liked Musicals and Shakespeare, and when she dared even suggest they should go to the theatre one evening, he positively baulked at the mere thought of it. His reading materials consisted only of comics, or "graphic novels" as he liked to call them, where Rachel seldom left the house without a book or two in her bag. She'd read anything that took her fancy, from Jane Austen and The Bronte sisters, to Joan Jonker and Marianne Keyes. To him, tattoos were a work of art and a way to express himself. She saw them as some sort of body mutilation and couldn't fathom why anyone would want to tarnish their skin so permanently. He loved sea food. She hated seafood. She was an early riser. He got up five minutes before he had to leave the house. She was pleasant and friendly with everyone. He mostly growled at people. It was very rare to see her without a smile gracing her lips and it was very rare to see him with one. She was blonde. His hair was black. She was light. He was dark.

They constantly bickered. They rarely agreed on anything. On more than one occasion, they'd given the rest of the roster something to talk about with their explosive arguments. Yet, somehow, they ended up spending most of their time together outside of training too. Since that day back in February, when he'd laid out plans for their new storyline together, she'd rarely slept at her own apartment, save the odd occasion when Punks girlfriend was in town. Even when her parents had come to visit, she still ended up sleeping over at his place because it was closer to their hotel. It wasn't something any of them planned, it just happened. Frequently.

They'd spend all day training together at OVW and more often than not, stay on later than everyone else to practise by themselves, then either Rachel would offer to cook, or he'd suggest a take away and because Punk wasn't a great fan of her room mate, Kim (who happened to be an ex of his), they'd always eat at his place. Dinner would always be followed by a DVD of some sort - usually a horror movie or a wrestling one - and by the time that finished, it would be gone midnight.

It had gotten to the point where Punk didn't even ask her if she was staying the night anymore, he'd just pull out the settee and make the bed up for her. She even had a small pile of laundry at his house now….which she made sure to get rid of whenever Maria was expected. Not that they had had any problems with each other, quite the opposite in fact. They got on pretty well on the few occasions they had met and Rachel hadn't sensed any underlying animosity coming her way from the Diva. But if she was in the red heads shoes, she certainly wouldn't take too kindly to finding another woman's lingerie lying around her boyfriends flat.

...

Currently, her and Punk were in one of the rings at OVW, getting in some extra, out of hours practice together. She'd just bounced off the ropes, jumped up round his neck (his face in her crotch) and span round his body twice before flipping him with her legs in a double hurricanrana. She quickly hopped over to the corner went up onto the top rope, then soared through the air and delivered her finishing manoeuvre, The Glasgow Kiss - a flying head butt, to him.

"Remind me to wear a crash helmet next time we practice," he grumbled as he sat up and rubbed his temple. She laughed it off. "I swear one of these days you're gonna misjudge where my head is and break my nose," he continued. "A broken nose is not a good look for me."

"Well, I could say the same every time you bring your knee up to my face in the GTS. But I don't, so quit your whining and lets get back to practice," she clapped her hands decisively and stood up.

"Fine," he got to his feet, "But this is the last one. I need food." he patted his stomach. "You call it," he told her.

"Okay…..how about….." she made it look like she was giving it some thought before she tentatively suggested, "A swanton bomb?".

He shook his head. "No way. You've never done it before. I will not be held accountable for you breaking your neck, nu-uh," he told her adamantly.

"Its not so much different to a moonsault of the top rope and I can do that pretty well" she protested.

"It's the complete opposite to a moonsault." he responded, incredulously. "You need to hold yourself differently and project yourself higher which leaves you wide open to fall harder and do yourself some serious damage. I am not going to school you on a move that could possibly kill you, especially when I can't even do it myself." he replied firmly. "Mama Cook would pickle my balls" he added, referring to Rachels mother who he had met several times during her recent visit.

"Dude, almost every move we do has the potential to either do some serious damage or kill us if we don't nail it right. It's what we do. We're _Wrestlers_. It ain't ballet." she argued throwing in the old wrestling adage for good measure.

"Nice try Hamish. But no chance! Either come up with something else or we're done." he told her.

"Fine," she groaned, "Running bull dog, standing moonsault, Glasgow kiss?" she suggested non-enthusiastically. It was a finishing sequence they had rehearsed together countless times

"Let's go!" he commanded, then slapped hands with her.

They circled each other around the ring a few times before locking up. He quickly broke the hold and grabbed her in a head lock. She stepped back onto her foot , placed a hand on his back and thrust him forward running towards the ropes. He bounced off them and came running back towards her, ducking the clothesline she tried to hit him with and bouncing off the ropes behind her to come back and hit her with one instead.

It was basic stuff. But to them, practicing the basic moves were just as important as the big ones. Failing to execute even the simplest of moves could be the difference between either of them becoming the Next Big Thing or the next Giant Gonzalez type disaster. And although they had both already been in the wrestling business for years prior to coming to OVW and were pretty well established on the Indy Circuits in each of their own countries, they knew it was still essential to practice every move over and over and over again.

They ran through the drill for another ten minutes or so before leading into the finishing sequence she had called earlier. Once she had hit him with the Glasgow Kiss, he again, grabbed his head and moaned about the pain.

"I'm done! My head is crying out for a vacation," he whinged.

"Fuck sake Punk, just get over it already." she threw a bottle of water at him, that she'd taken from her back pack at ringside. "I swear to christ, if Scotty heard you right now he'd go straight out and buy you a tutu for being such a big girl."

"Says she who cried at Toy Story," he retorted. They had watched it the previous night, after she had cooked for him and they were hanging out at his place. It had been her movie choice.

"I _am _a girl" she screeched in exasperation.

"There's no excuse in the world that'll let you off the hook for crying at a movie about toys."

"Oh because you didn't get all choked up when Andy ditched Woody for Buzz," she teased.

"Okay, now this discussion is giving me a headache," he rubbed his temples.

"No, that would be the four Glasgow Kisses that you've taken tonight,"

"Not even gonna go down that road again." He grabbed his bag and headed back to the locker rooms to change. Rachel followed behind. "Are you cooking tonight?" he asked her.

"Nah, I'm worn out and I'm pretty sure it's your turn." she patted his back.

"In that case, we'll be having cereal."

"Ugh, that won't do. I haven't eaten since lunch and it's now gone nine" she complained as she looked at her watch.

"Well, I dunno if you know this but I'm also pretty nifty at ordering take out."

"That could work" she nodded approvingly.

"Chinese?"

"If you're paying, I'm in"

"I'll pay when hell freezes over."


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter 6: Live, Love, Laugh and don't drink wine!_**

"Rach…hey Rach…wait up…." the voice of Beth Phoenix called as she was leaving the training centre one Thursday evening towards the end of March.

She stopped and waited for the blonde to catch up.

"Hey stranger," she greeted her room mate who had been making frequent appearances on RAW recently and as a result, Rachel had hardly seen her in weeks.

"Hey," Beth waved a hand lazily. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm now officially off to RAW full time."

"Oh my god Beth, that's amazing…." she flung her arms around the self proclaimed Glamazon and gave her a hug. "Congratulations, I'm so happy for you" she smiled.

"Thanks, I know its great, right? But I also wanted to let you know that I've decided to move up to Tampa, you know, the travel is just so much easier from there and I've been offered a room in this sweet little condo. I'll be moving out of the apartment this weekend."

Rachel wrinkled her nose at the news. "Well, that sucks, I'm not gonna lie. I'll miss you heaps."

"Oh yeah, because you spend so much time with us at home…" Beth replied sarcastically, "Honestly, Punk should think of subletting to you….you waste your money paying rent on our place. He may as well make some extra cash. " she laughed.

"Yeah…can't see that going down too well with Maria somehow," Rachel mused as she linked arms with Beth and began to walk.

"What the girl don't know won't hurt her," Beth quipped and they shared a childish giggle. "Anyway, the whole point of my news was that I'm having a 'I'm leaving Louisville party' and I wanna make sure you come, okay? I know it's not your scene or whatever but who knows when we'll see each other again and I'd really just like everyone who meant something to me down here, to be there."

"Awww….that's sweet. Of course I'll be there. When is it?"

"Tomorrow. We're starting off with drinks at our place at 7.30, then going to dinner and a club somewhere after."

"Sounds good. Who else is coming?"

"Well, basically most of the roster! I haven't had the chance to ask Punk yet though so pass on the invitation. Something tells me that you're more likely to see him before I do," Beth nudged her playfully.

"I'm on my way to his right now," Rachel laughed, "I'll ask him".

"Good, good.. Well, I guess I better get home and finish the rest of my packing. I move into the new place on Sunday and then I'm off on Monday morning to Boston for RAW, so gotta make sure everything's super organised."

"Wow, its all happening so fast huh?" she stated, feeling a little bit glum at the prospect of losing her friend. Beth nodded. "I'll give you a hand later with you're packing if you like?"

"You mean, you're actually going to come home?" Beth exclaimed in mock shock.

"Sure, sure. I'm never home. I get it. It's just so much more relaxed over at Punks," she offered as an excuse. "However, this being one of your last nights as my roomie, I will definitely make a point of being home. We can order pizza, drink wine and pack the rest of your shit."

"Sounds like a plan. See ya later," Beth pecked her cheek, then turned and jogged back in the direction of OVW.

...

"Holy crap, what the fuck happened to you?" Punk yelled as he entered the girls apartment the next night and made a bee line for Rachel.

"Um…the girls made me over…." she screwed her nose up and braced herself for the barrage of insults that was surely set to spew forth from Punks mouth.

"Yeah, no shit. You look like you've been through the Diva equivalent to a carwash."

"Huh?"

"Enter looking all normal and exit looking polished and waxy."

"I look waxy?" she whined, already regretting letting Serena and Kim do her hair and make up. Usually a flash of eyeliner and a dab of lipstick sufficed. The girls were having none of that though and she had eventually caved to their persuasions..

"I'm sorry did you say something?" Punk jested, "I was momentarily blinded by the glare reflecting off your forehead."

"For fuck sake Punk can't you just lie for once and tell me I look great," she scolded him. "I feel uncomfortable as it is in this shit without you making me feel ten times worse."

Amused by her little outburst, he patted her arm condescendingly and told her "You look great." She swatted his hand away. "Now can we please stop talking about how hot you look so I can grab a pepsi?"

"Sure and get me another wine while you're at it," she handed him her empty glass, "I've gotta feeling I'm gonna need it," she remarked as even more people entered the apartment.

...

"RACH? RACHEL?" Punk entered the ladies room at Club Zanzabar, not giving a rats ass that he wasn't supposed to be in there. "RACHEL COOK YOUR BUTT BETTER NOT BE IN HERE PUKING," he yelled as he pushed the cubical doors open one by one, making a mental note to bitch slap Cabana next time he saw him for guilt tripping him in to looking out for the Scot. Up until now, he'd been fine with it. As heated as their friendship could be at times, she was actually pretty cool to hang out with. She didn't need to be constantly entertained and was fairly easy to please. He generally found her presence quite relaxing.

But tonight was just a whole new level of hell. One he hadn't seen coming. He didn't have her pegged as one of those girls who got incredibly drunk and made a complete fool of themselves.

But she was.

Drunk. Like, completely pissed out of her mind. She'd been throwing back glasses of wine like it was water. Already he'd had to peel her off two guys in a bid to prevent her getting thrown out the club or arrested for performing indecent acts. She was like a dog in heat. Dancing provocatively and randomly locking lips with countless guys. Tonight, she was legitimately, his worst nightmare. He hated babysitting drunk people. It was only due to his loyalty to Cabana he was doing it now.

_Fuckin' Cabana_, he thought as he angrily smashed open a few more doors. It was only when he had reached the last cubicle that he found her. Cuddled up on the floor and hugging the toilet. She'd obviously just been sick. He could smell it.

"Ya know, I didn't think you could get any sexier than you were earlier tonight," he drawled, sarcasm dripping off every word, "But this….well, this is the most attractive I've seen you yet"

"Punk?" she slurred not daring to turn her head away from the bowl, lest she be sick again. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh I dunno…came to powder my nose…what the fuck do you think I'm doing here?"

"I've been sick," she informed him.

"Yeah, I know…I have a sense of smell," he remarked wryly.

"I think I may….hic…need to go home soon." She relaxed her bear hold on the toilet and leant back against the wall.

"I like that plan."

"I'll just wait 'til the rooms decides to stop…..hic…. spinning."

"That could take a while," Punk grumbled, desperate to leave.

"Come 'ere, come 'ere," she waved her hand haphazardly, motioning for him to come closer.

"Ain't no way I'm getting any closer to you than I am already," he told her firmly. "You fucking stink."

"Noooo, you have to come 'ere," she complained, "I got something really really im…..hic….portant to tell you."

Punk rolled his eyes and rubbed his head, "Rach will you just sort yourself the fuck out so we can get outta here. I don't have the time or patience for this shit."

"But Puuuunk…." she pouted, "I've got something really really important to say to you. It's really really important that I tell you and its really really important that I tell you _now_," she reached out and grabbed his leg in an attempt to pull him closer.

"Fuck off," he kicked her arm away from him and stepped back.

"Oh my god, you _hate _me," her lip trembled, hurt by his actions.

"Right now I kinda do, yeah," he seethed as he shoved his hands in his pockets, his patience wearing thin. "Cabana too when I think about it."

"Oh no…..I loooove Scott," she grinned dreamily at the mention of her friend. "He's so much nicer than you," she spat at him. "Like a gazillion times nicer."

"Yeah yeah 'bana's a peach. Now can you please just GET OFF THE FUCKING FLOOR," he screeched at her.

"Don't yell at me," she whined. "I'm _ill"_

"You're not fucking ill, you're fucking DRUNK. It's your own fucking fault your in this fucking state."

"Stop shouting at me," her face crumpled. "Your mean," she began to sob.

"Yeah I'm also extremely pissed off right now. So unless you get your ass into gear in within the next sixty seconds, I'm just gonna leave you here and you can sleep with your head down the pan for all I care."

"I want Scott, get me Scott," she ordered him seriously.

"Trust me if I could switch places with him right now, I would. But he's not here and I, for some fucked up reason, am. So I guess we both just gotta deal with it."

"I like him better than I like you."

"I like him better than I like me too."

"I'm not sure I even like you at all," she murmured petulantly. "You're never nice to me, you swear at me constantly and….you smell like _feet_."

"That would be your puke encrusted purse your smelling there sweet cheeks."

"Oh you know what…." she flustered, "Go away….just fuck off…FUCK. OFF"

"Always a pleasure," he sneered at her, then stalked off.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter 7: The only way to have a friend, is to be one!_**

"You're mean when your drunk," was the greeting she received the following afternoon when Punk opened his door.

"You're mean when your sober," she retaliated.

"If that's your way of apologising, I don't fancy your chances on been forgiven."

"I brought cinnabons?" She held her offering up for him to see.

"You may enter."

She made her way into his kitchen and set the box down on the counter before opening it up and handing him a pastry.

He took a bite then told her, "Best apology gift ever."

"I'm glad you like it," she took a breath, "Look I know you probably have a thousand witty comments that you need to get out your system in regards to the way I behaved last night…"

"One thousand and one…"

"Yeah yeah. But can you just, like, hold them in or something for two minutes so I can say my peace?"

He made a motion to say his lips were sealed.

"So…I know I was an outright cow to you last night and I was completely steaming drunk…I probably said some things to you that were completely out of line, especially when you were just looking out for me…so I'm sorry. I'm sorry for getting drunk and embarrassing you in front of everyone. And I'm sorry for being a bitch to you."

"Are you finished?"

"Yeah. Sure…Let the insults commence," she braced herself.

"So does 'bana know your in love with him or were you just sharing all your dirty little secrets with me last night?"

"WHAT? I'm not in love with Scott. What the fuck? No way did I say that!"

Punk collapsed into peels of laughter. "You said you "love Scotty"" he mimicked her dreamy like voice from the night before.

"Yeah as a friend," she huffed. "Doesn't mean I'm in love with him."

"You just like him more than me, right?"

"I like most people more than you Punk."

"Oh I know, you told me that last night too. Because I'm never nice to you, always swear at you and…what was it?….oh yeah…I smell like feet."

She cringed in shame as he repeated her drunken words.

"Oh my god, I'm _sooooooo _sorry."

"Forget it. I've heard worse about myself."

"So I'm forgiven then?"

"Only if you continue to bring me cinnabons for breakfast for the next week…no…wait….make it a month."

"Punk," she slapped his arm in exasperation.

"Ow, fine fine I forgive you."

She beamed, delighted that her little indiscretions had been excused and took a seat on his sofa.

"What, no hug?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"We made up. Don't I get a hug?"

"Uh…..we're not exactly hugging friends Punk. I can do a handshake?" she offered.

"You told me that you weren't sure you even liked me….." he stuck his bottom lip out.

"Okay okay," she got up and hugged him clumsily "Better?" she asked as she sat back down again.

"'Bana was right. Your nipples _could _totally cut ice sculptures."

He ducked as a missile in the form of a cushion was launched in his direction.

…...

Later that evening, as they were watching some of Punks old ROH wrestling tapes, Rachel's phone rang. After glancing at the caller display, a happy smile broke out across her face. She excused herself and went into Punks bedroom to take the call.

Ten minutes later, she returned, with the same grin plastered on her face.

"I take it from that goofy look on your face that a _boy _just called you?" Punk questioned her.

"It's called smiling. If it wasn't such an alien concept to you, you may not find it so "goofy". And no, a boy did not just call me. A man did." she informed him.

"Oh? And do I happen to know this man?"

"I doubt it. He lives on the other side of the Altlantic," she laughed.

"Ah. So, is this guy your boyfriend?"

"What? Punk, have you ever heard me talk about a boyfriend?"

"No, which is why I'm trying to work out why your currently grinning like a necrophiliac in a morgue."

"I so am not," she rolled her eyes, " I'm just happy to hear from him. It's been a while," she shrugged as she helped herself to more of the pizza they'd ordered for dinner.

Punks eyes narrowed, knowing that there was more to the story than she was letting on.

"Tell me," he whined, kicking her leg with his foot.

"Quit kicking me," she leaned over and slapped his arm. "And if you really must know it was my ex, Andrew, calling to let me know that him and a few other guys I know back home have all got try outs with WWE next month when they're on tour in Europe."

"You have an ex?" Punks eyebrows shot up.

"Uh…I have a few exes….Why do you look so shocked? Do you think that I've never had a boyfriend before or something?"

Punk gave his head a quick shake. "I guess I just never really thought about it. You never really talk about guys," he shrugged. "Actually up until last night when you were acting like Lassie on Viagra, I was pretty sure you played for Marnie's team," he teased her, referring to one of their colleagues at OVW who was a lesbian.

"Oh my god," she laughed loudly. "Just because I don't spend all my time talking about guys, doesn't mean I'm a lesbian. I don't talk about guys because I've more important things to talk about. And to be quite honest….I haven't really met anyone worth talking about recently," she told him.

"I'm just gonna go ahead and add on "with the exception of you Punk" to that sentence," he joked making her giggle.

"And I'm just gonna smile politely and let you believe what you want," she messed his hair, then got up and went to the bathroom. When she got back, Punk paused the tape they were watching and turned to her.

"So, tell me about this ex of yours."

"Why are you so interested?" she asked, her brow narrowed.

"Because I am. I just, sorta realised that I don't know all that much about you, despite you taking up what seems to be permanent residence on my sofa bed."

"Well, now you know that A) I'm not a lesbian and B) I like boys."

"And….." he prompted her.

"And…there's not that much to tell, Punk. I have a few exes. Who doesn't? I certainly know that you do because I work with most of them."

"I'm not that bad," he tutted.

"Oh really? Well lets see then….there's Kim, Tracy, Shannon, Brooke,…."

"Quit listing my failed relationships and tell me all about yours. It's only fair if you know mine, I know yours."

"You're not gonna drop this subject 'til I tell you, are you?" she groaned.

"Well I am the most stubborn person I know."

"Fine," she sighed as she gave in to him. "So, that Andrew guy that called? Well, he was like my first proper boyfriend. We met a few years back when we were both in training at FWA and dated for a while on and off for about three or four years. Eventually I left for a tour in Spain and when I got back he was with someone else."

"He cheated on you?"

"Nah, we're were on an "off" stage. It's kinda hard to have a decent relationship with someone when you're travelling here, there and everywhere."

"Sounds familiar," he nodded his head slowly. "Any other exes hidden in the closet?"

"Well, after Andrew, there was Mikey who was one of the bookers at BCW. He turned out to be a complete loser. Then a brief fling with this guy called Stuart who was a bare knuckle street fighter turned wrestler. But that ended when I left to go to Japan. Then I dated this guy Pac for a while…."

"Pac?" he interrupted her.

"It's his ring name," she explained, "His real name's Ben but I think everyone apart from his mother called him Pac, _including _his dad. You know….kinda like how it is with you," she smiled. "But then I left to go to Ireland so that ended."

"I see a pattern developing here."

"Just the way it is," she shrugged. "It wouldn't have worked with Pac and I anyway, he was like six years younger than me. I felt like a total cougar."

"Aw, but your dates would've been so cheap," he ribbed her, "Kids go free at the zoo, right?"

"Oh shut up…. He was a decent guy. He was really mature for his age."

"Yeah, that's the same excuse ten of thousands of child sex offenders have used as well. "I didn't know she was twelve, your honour. She looked and acted, eighteen"."

"And on that note….I think it's time for me to go home," she stood and got ready to leave.

"Oh, don't storm off in the huff."

"I'm not," she chuckled, "It's late and I really do have to leave. It's Beth's last night at the apartment and I promised I'd be there for breakfast before she leaves in the morning."

"Fine," he sulked, "But I'm not finished grilling you on this long list of exes you have,"

"Grill all you want. There's only one more to tell you about anyway."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Danny. He was the promoter at 1pw. Scott got us together."

"Cabana?"

"Yeah. Danny was sorta like Scott's parting gift to me. Scotty knew I liked him, so before he flew back to the States he told him. Danny took it from there," she smiled fondly at the memory.

"What happened?"

"I got my contract and moved here."

"You sure do leave a lotta broken hearts around the globe woman."

"Goodnight Punk," she gave him a sad little wave and left.

She hadn't let herself think about Danny in a long time but the mere mention of his name brought back so many memories. Out of all the guys she'd just told Punk about, he was the only one she had actually fallen in love with. Her first love. Her _only_ love. It had taken a lot for her to leave him. He was the reason she had given her contract with the WWE a moments hesitation. For a few seconds, she wasn't going to sign. Just the mere flicker of a thought of having to leave him caused her heart to break. But as quickly as it had left, her common sense returned and she signed on the dotted line.

And now, he was nothing more than an addition to a list of her exes.


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N - So I should probably throw in a disclaimer and let you guys know that I don't own anyone or any company mentioned in this story except from Rachel. I mean, I would like to own a tiny piece of Punk, namely his trunks...but Santa has stopped listening to me. Hey, maybe his year will be my year *fingers crossed***_

_**Thanks to those who alerted and followed...**_

_**Chapter 8: The road to success is always under construction!**_

_**AM**_

All around the globe, no matter who you are or what your occupation, it is collectively agreed that Monday mornings suck. Big time! And despite the love they had for their job and their unconventional work schedules, the trainees at OVW whole heartedly concurred with this statement.

Usually at weekends, they were performing at house shows friday, saturday and Sunday nights. And unlike their colleagues on the main rosters of Raw, ECW and Smackdown, they didn't have the Monday morning to recoup and re-energise. No sir. By 8.30am, the trainees were all packed into a gym ready for a gruelling session of cardio. "Ready" as in they were there physically. Not so much mentally. Mostly they were all still half asleep, and somewhere off in dreamland, fatigued by the weekends gruelling schedule.

The Monday following Beth's departure was no different, despite them having had a rare weekend off from shows. In fact, instead of them just feeling worn out, there was a high percentage of the roster that were hung-over too, having thoroughly made the most out of their downtime. Some had flew home on Saturday to visit loved ones for a couple of days, but the majority of the trainees had opted to remain in Louisville, just hanging out, drinking and partying amongst themselves.

Needless to say, there was a few sets of red rimmed eyes in the gym that morning and no one was really giving their workout 100% other than Punk. Even Rachel, who had fully recovered from her night of drunken debauchery on Friday and hadn't particularly done anything taxing on Sunday, wasn't giving it her all.

Beth's departure had left her feeling a little bit glum. It was fair to say that they hadn't spent much time together the past few months because of Beth's random and frequent visits to RAW and Rachel's having practically moved in with Punk. But she already missed the Glamazon. She had been the first friendly face to greet her upon her arrival to the States and during the first few months when she'd been a little lost and homesick, it had been Beth who had talked her into joining their room mates on a girls night out every once in a while to get her mind off things.

On a few occasions, when Rachel had felt that the pain of being so far away from her family was all too much, Beth had just came into her room, sat on her bed and chatted for hours on end about everything and anything. She hadn't molly coddled Rachel or said anything in particular about her troubles, it was just as if she knew what she was going through and done something to keep her mind of it for a short while. And it had worked. Mainly because Beth had chatted so much Rachel was practically in a coma by the time she left the room but all the same…..it worked.

And as much as she liked her other room mates, she really hadn't clicked with any of them as well as she had with Beth. They were a lot more girly and high pitched than she cared for. Being the only girl out of five kids had that kind of effect. Despite her mothers best efforts to raise a twinkling little Princess, Rachel was very much a tom boy. Between her wrestling mad granddad, and her four brothers teasing the shit out of anything girly, she really didn't have any option. Sure, some of her tastes were pretty feminine, but that didn't stretch to her main preferences…or her appearance. She rarely wore make up, never got her nails done and hardly ever styled her hair - mostly it was thrown back in a messy bun. She only wore heels on special occasions and even then it was a two inch kitten heel. Anything higher than that and she couldn't walk straight. Skirts and dresses she wore for nights out and when she was performing her valet duties but fashion wasn't really her strong point. She valued comfort much higher than looking good. Not that she was a slob by any means - she always looked neat and tidy, but if she had the choice, she'd live in her track pants and vests.

"Anyone in there?," she was brought out of her reverie by fingers snapping in front of her face.

"Hey Brent, what's up?" she stifled a yawn as she greeted one of her fellow trainees and Punks latest feuding partner, Brent Albright.

"Rough weekend?" he enquired, joining the workout on the neighbouring treadmill.

"Meh. It wasn't bad," she shrugged.

"Get to go home?" he asked making small talk.

"Nah too far, it would've taken me the whole weekend to get there."

"Sucks."

"Yeah. So what did you get up to?"

"Oh nothing too exciting. Pretty much lazed around eating Cheetos the whole weekend."

"Sounds relaxing," she commented.

"It was," he nodded. "So, your friend Punk over there tells me you're single," he blurted out causing Rachel to stumble slightly and grab the rail on the treadmill.

"Sorry," he laughed nervously.

"Uhm….." she mumbled as she pressed the button to slow the machine down. "Punk's a jack ass."

"Ah, go easy on him. I did ask him what your status was. He just answered. It isn't like he's going about pimping you out or anything like that," he hurriedly explained in Punks defence.

"Okay," she cocked her head to the side and looked a him, trying to fathom where this conversation was going. It was a bit random and out of the blue. Especially after she'd only had a discussion with Punk two days ago concerning her relationship status.

"So I was kinda wondering if you'd maybe like to get a coffee sometime after training?"

She stared down at the floor, unsure of how to answer his question. She had worked in close proximity to Brent for a few weeks now as he was in a 'fued' with Punk and thought him a really nice guy. But if she was perfectly honest with herself, she didn't think about him in _that way_ even in the slightest. On the other hand, it was just coffee and having just lost one of the only two friends she had made since coming to Louisville, she thought that maybe it wouldn't hurt to try and make some new ones.

When she looked up again she saw Punk, a few machines down from them, looking over with a cocky little smile on his face. He clearly knew what was happening and was relishing in her blatant discomfort.

_Smug bastard, _she thought to herself.

"Rach?" Brent prompted her.

"I'd love to go for coffee with you Brent," she declared abruptly, grinning at him. _Anything to wipe that grin of Punks face._

"For real?" his eyes widened in surprise at her acceptance.

"Ofcourse. I love coffee. I'd probably be going to get some anyway. It'd be nice to have you join me."

"Awesome. So, meet me outside at five tomorrow?"

"I'll see you then," she gave him a brief wave, then stepped off the machine and made her way over to Punk, glugging thirstily from her water bottle as she did so.

"I can tell by the look on your face that you're currently visualising a hundred ways to mutilate and disfigure me and my not so ripped abs" Punk chuckled as she approached.

"Not really," she answered dryly. "I've already decided how I'm going to kill you. Now, I'm really just trying to decide how to dispose of your body and get away with murder."

"As if you would," he snorted, "I'm a freaking ray of sunshine. I'd be missed so much that they'd send out a search party to sniff out my burnt ass carcass and before you know it you'd be walking the green mile."

"Or you know….receiving a medal for sparing humanity from having to put up with you."

"Got your snarky pants on today I see," he commented. "Speaking of which….how's Brent?" he smiled crookedly.

"Oh….well…..he has potential."

"Potential?" he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Boyfriend potential," she informed him, her poker straight features belying her urge to laugh. There was no way she was letting Punk think he had gotten one up on her.

"Seriously?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Didn't think he'd be your type," he shrugged.

"You didn't think a nice, well mannered and all round decent guy would be my type?"

"Not really," he shook his head. "I guess you learn something new and all that jazz."

"I guess you do. Anyway, thanks for setting us up," she slapped his back casually and made her way over to do some circuit training.

…...

_**PM**_

"Holy crap on a cracker, what the hell was that?" Rachel asked in disbelief as she lay flat on her back rubbing her neck.

"It's a lucha take on a hurricanrana," her training partner for the afternoon, Serena explained. "It's pretty much the same but a bit faster and your opponent rotates more."

"I'll say it's a lot faster, I barely had time to blink," she said, as she sat up, still a bit dazed and astonished at the little manoeuvre her room mate just pulled off. "It's a pity we're don't film training sessions. I'd love to see that back again. I bet it looks awesome."

"Wow, a compliment. I am honoured," Serena laughed as she wiped her face with a towel.

Rachel scrunched her face up. "Oh god, don't say that, you make me sound like a bitch."

"Hmm, I wouldn't say you're a bitch, just a bit tunnel visioned is all."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…you only see Punk. I mean, like, literally all you see is him. It's like no one else even exists sometimes. I get that you're working with him and that requires spending a significant amount of time with him. But it's not just that. You don't watch any one else's matches or get involved with things happening down here anymore unless it involves him. Its sort of a bit rude."

"Yikes," Rachel's eye widened at the brunettes brutal honesty. "Wow, I'm sorry, I never realised I was being like that," she said genuinely.

"I know you don't, hence the reason I said tunnel visioned and not a bitch."

"You should've said something."

Serena guffawed, "When? When could I have said anything? I never see you Rach. You're never at home and when you're here your practically glued to Punks side. The only reason that I'm able to say it now is because he's been hauled into Dusty's office and for like, the first time in forever you're not his training partner."

"I was home all day yesterday," she lamely attempted to defend herself.

"Yeah and from the minute Beth left you were holed up in your room. Not so friendly and welcoming"

"Oh my god.," she rubbed her forehead in her hands as the realisation dawned on her of how unintentionally awful she'd been acting. "I am a bitch."

"Nah, just a little closed off to those of us not named CM Punk," Serena smiled as she rubbed the blondes shoulder offering her a bit off comfort. "I mean, I do kinda see where you're coming from. He is uber hot and has that whole sexy dark and brooding vibe going on."

It was Rachel's turn to laugh now. "Are you frikkin' serious? Punk? Hot? Seriously? He looks like a fucking hobo who hasn't seen soap and water in five years. He wears clothes with pizza stains on them, I can't remember the last time I seen him do laundry, if ever. And he's all grizzly and hairy. And not in a good way. Yuk," she shuddered as she tried to picture Punk as 'hot'. "No. That is definitely not the reason that I spend so much time with him."

"Really?" Serena asked, not believing her in the slightest. Punk was akin to God in the female locker room - the majority of the women either wanted to date him or had already.

"Yes, really. Look, Punk and I knew each other a little bit before I moved here. I worked with his friend, Cabana, in England for a while and met him then. I guess, I just sort of latched onto him a bit because of that. I dunno…." she shrugged. "He's just a friend. I think," she added, wondering how Punk would feel at her classing him as a friend knowing how funny he was with things like that. There was only a handful of people that he considered true friends and she wasn't sure yet if she was one of them. Would he regard her as his friend or just a colleague?

"Look, all I'm saying is just be more aware of what's going on around you and not just things in relation to him. Make an effort with people. Watch our matches. Maybe even acknowledge our presence once in a while," she joked.

"I'm not that bad," Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Not that bad at what?" she heard Punks voice call from behind her. He had just entered the room and was walking towards them.

"Sex," she replied not missing a beat. "I've just been telling Serena here about my hot date tomorrow with Brent. She'd been giving me tips on how to seduce a man, ya know, since it's been a while…."

"Blah blah blah. Enough about you and you're puppy love," he waved a hand dismissively. "I have an announcement," he proclaimed as he jumped up on the ring apron.

"Oh-_kay_" she said slowly, bemused by his dramatic declaration.

"Guess who's gonna be at Wrestlemania this Sunday?"

"Oh," she groaned, "You've already told me that. No need to keep rubbing it in."

"I don't mean backstage with Maria, I mean actually taking part in the show."

"You're shittin' me?" Serena exclaimed at the same time as Rachel shouted "No way!"

"Yes way. And no, I'm not shittin' you."

"What…what….I mean, how…." Rachel stumbled over her words.

"You'd think I'd be totally relishing in the fact that you're **_finally _**at a loss for words Cook, but I can't even think about that right now because I'M TOO FUCKING EXCITED," he whooped and started jumping around like an overactive four year old. He grabbed the girls who got caught up in his evident exhilaration and bounced alongside him, both laughing hysterically at Punks complete departure from his normal pissed and moody demeanour.

When they eventually calmed down, they each collapsed down on the mat and lay trying to catch their breath.

"I am literally green with envy right now," Rachel propped herself up on her elbow.

"Me too," Serena agreed.

"Yes, yes. Be completely jealous ladies," he flourished a hand.

"What are you even gonna be doing?" his frequent house guest asked.

"Well, you know how Cena's in the main event?" he began.

"Do you think you'll ever be able to say Cena without it sounding like you just ate vomit?" she wondered, disregarding his question.

"Never." he shot her an incredulous look, "Anyway, they're putting together this big old, grand entrance for the Lord-I-Am. They want 1940s style gangster's to accompany him and his gigantic ego to the ring." he explained. "Gangsta!" he pointed at himself with both index fingers.

"Is this a rib?" The idea of Punk as one of Cena's lackeys was difficult to comprehend.

"No, This is totally legit," he assured her.

"So…..you're really gonna be one of Cena's gangsters?"

"It's Wrestlemania. I'd suck Cena _off _just to get the chance to appear," he deadpanned.

"True story," she nodded allowing his point. "Wrestlemania though. How awesome is that?" she smiled as she thought how it would feel to make an appearance at the biggest wrestling event of the year.

"Awesome doesn't even begin to cover it," he ran his fingers through his hair and jumped to his feet.

"Lucky fucker."

…...

_**Later that evening…**_

Rachel had Punk pinned to the kitchen floor in his apartment. He was wriggling beneath her and yelling at her to get off him. For a little woman, she had some strength.

To anyone who knew them, it would look like they were messing around or practising some moves together. However on his occasion, hell must have frozen over, because she was actually trying to kiss him. Yes, really.

No more than five minutes ago, he informed her that as part of his payment for his brief appearance at Wrestlemania, he would receive two ringside seat tickets for the event itself. And because he had already procured his through Maria, he'd given them to Rachel.

She promptly tackled him to the floor.

"Get off me you crazy mother fucker."

"Punk, I'm going to Wrestlemania. Now hold still while I thank you."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter 9: Welcome to Chicago! The town stinks like a whorehouse at low tide!**_

**A/N - Thanks to the anonymous person who reviewed the last chapter. I'm not gonna be one of those writers who begs for reviews or threatens not to write anymore until I've received at least 10 but it is nice to know someone's reading and liking my story and it was very much appreciated…Thankssssssssss**

**Friday 31****st**** March**

"Mike, I swear to fuckin' Christ, if you elbow me in the ribs one more time, I'm gonna punch your fuckin' lights out," Rachel seethed through gritted teeth.

"I already said I was sorry," The Miz grumbled. "There's no room in these damn seats."

"Just quit wriggling about and sit the fuck still," she huffed and throw herself back against her seat.

They were currently thirty thousand feet above land, en-route to Chicago, the host city of Wrestlemania that year. Because it had been cheaper to book her plane ticket through OVW (who were purchasing a number of tickets for the rookies taking part in Wrestlemania) Rachel had had no involvement in choosing her seat. Subsequently, she'd ended up squished in the middle seat between Mike "The Miz" Mizanin and Elijah Burke. There was no words to describe what kind of hell she was currently being subjected to.

Elijah was the epitome of someone who had their head stuck up their own arse and before they had even taken off, Mike had been restless and fidgety, nudging her in the side every so often as he changed position. It was understandable to a point, the seats weren't the most comfortable and for a guy Mike's size, space was pretty cramped. But between the digs to her ribs and Elijah's never ending boasting of how freaking great he was, she'd had enough - despite the fact that it was barely an hour and thirty minute flight. She still had approximately another thirty minutes of this shit before she could breath easily again.

She closed her eyes and tried her hardest to block out Burke's non-stop spiel.

_Think of nice things, think of nice things, _she urged herself, in a bid to keep her temper at bay.

Almost at once an image of Scott popped into her minds eye. She felt her shoulders relax immediately. She'd invited him to go with her to the show on Sunday so they could both see (and laugh at) Punk in his finest 1940s get up. Plus everyone who was anyone in the wrestling business wanted to be there. It was Wrestlemania for god sake - the biggest event of the year.

It has been a while since she'd seen Scott. He was so busy these days that he'd only had the opportunity to visit her and Punk twice in Louisville since her arrival there. And they'd been pretty brief visits which had mainly involved the three of them slobbing out, eating pizza and catching up. She hadn't had any time alone with him, which was weird because she was so used to spending a lot of one on one time with him when they did see each other.

When they had travelled around Britain together it had only been the two of them as they drove for miles and miles all over the country. Now that she was in America, i.e. his territory, and Punk was pretty much a fixture in both of their lives, their friendship had a whole new dynamic. Even when he called her, she barely had the chance to have a decent conversation with him before Punk, who was always hovering in the background somewhere, snatched the phone away from her.

It felt like, as her friendship grew with Punk, her friendship with Scott waned slightly. And she didn't want that. Ever since they'd met, she had felt drawn to him. He had a lovely aura about him, was hilariously funny and was just a very likeable guy and even though it was only for two months that they worked together, they had grown quite close. When he went back to the States, they kept in continual contact via phone and email. He was he first person she told when she was offered her contract with Wwe and not just because she knew how happy he'd be for her, but because she really needed advice on how to break the news to Danny. He always dished out great advice, did Scott. He was blunt, honest and straight to the point, none of his pussy footing around a subject like most people.

_"At the end of the day kid, you're just gonna have to rip the fuckin' band aid off and tell him. You can't just up and leave without telling him, that would just make you a complete dick." _she recalled him telling her and as soon as their conversation was over, she went straight to Danny and told him.

Scott certainly had a way of kicking her bum in the right direction.

By the time the seatbelt lights came on, signalling their descent into Chicago, she was chomping at the bit to just get off the plane and go see her friend.

She desperately needed some alone time with him to reconnect.

…...

"I swear, every time I see you, you get shorter," Scott welcomed her, enveloping her in a big bear hug. "Someone stick you in a washing machine?"

"Actually, I'm thinking it's maybe the thickness on the sole of those high tops your wearing. Seriously, it's like three inches…." she mocked him..

"Any more of you're cheek young lady and you'll be digging my sneaker from your rectum." he messed her hair up. "Punk," he shook his best friends hand. "Did you really have to let her tag along?" he thumbed back over his shoulder at Rachel.

"She held a gun to my head." Punk deadpanned "Here, 'Bana, take this," he handed him a suitcase recently retrieved from the luggage conveyor they were currently standing by.

"I swear to Jeebus that I'm never getting a flight booked through OVW again. One and a half hours of excruciating hell, stuck at the window seat beside Kim and Tiffany with no means of escape. I had to endure half an hour of high pitched conversation regarding what colour of nail polish matches their ring gear best. My ears legitimately walked off my head in protest."

"Oh, you should have tried being stuck in between Mike and Elijah for the duration of the flight. I've never, in my life, heard someone talk so much about themselves in such a short amount of time as Burke did, and I'm pretty sure I have some neat little bruises from when Mike kept elbowing me," Rachel informed them.

"Well it's nice to see you two never change. Irritable and crabby as ever, guys," Scott laughed as they made their way out of he airport.

"Hey," she slapped his arm, "I'm not always irritable and crabby."

"That's debatable," Punk commented.

"I guess my boy here's had a bigger effect on you than you think he has, kid," Scott teased her.

"And for that, you're welcome," Punk held a hand to his chest and bowed as if he was some sort of messiah bestowing wisdom on her.

"I really need to start making new friends," Rachel groaned, "You know ones that spend more time appreciating me than they do mocking me."

"Hey, come through to my room later tonight and I'll give you a whole ton of appreciation baby," Punk wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Ugh! Not with a thousand condoms Punk," she pushed his head away playfully.

"You see that? Always acting she ain't interested when I know deep down inside she's really harbouring a deep desire to jump my bones," he stage whispered to his best friend so that she could hear him.

"Oh, as if!" she tutted.

"Please, woman! Don't even act like you don't think I'm sex on legs. I'm so freakin' hot, that sometimes I wanna rip my own clothes of and do me."

"Punk, there's a difference between wanting to _do you _and wanting to _do you __**in**_," she told him,

"One is a criminal offence, and the other **should **be."

Scott walked between the pair, laughing loudly at their battle of wits. He was used to hearing Punk goading and being snarky with people, it was how he communicated. He'd never heard Rachel like that before though - only when she was with Punk. The Chi-town naïve was obviously bringing out her inner wise cracker.

"Oy vey! If you kids are gonna carry on like this the whole weekend, I'm gonna put _myself _in the naughty corner," he reprimanded them in good-humour.

"Sorry Scotty," she smiled sweetly and took his hand, linking her fingers with his. Her and Scott were often tactile with one another - in a friendly way ofcourse.

"So, where we heading?" he asked, looking between the two for an answer.

"I'm meeting Maria at her hotel. I think we're just gonna go get something to eat. Wanna join us? Punk asked.

"Oh yes! I haven' seen her in ages," Rachel clapped her hands excitedly.

"Actually Rach, I'd kinda planned on taking you to meet my mum," Scott explained, lazily throwing an arm around her shoulder.

"You're kidding?" she asked, stopping in her tracks and looking at him. "Does that mean…..?"

"Yep," he nodded his head, "Latkes."

She threw her arms around him eagerly. "Oh my god, you're like he bestest friend ever."

He'd been promising her since they'd met that one day she would get to sample his mums infamous potato latkes. She'd discovered them one night when they'd gone out to eat at a Jewish deli in London and fell in love with the fried, carbohydrate laden delights. Scott, who had also had some, swore they weren't a patch on his mothers and had told her that the minute she set foot in Chicago he would take her to his parents to sample them. He was obviously true to his word.

"Yeah….I'm awesome," he agreed.

"Hey, fucker," Punk slapped him upside the head, "Where's my invite? Mrs Colt is one of the few mothers I know that actually likes me."

"Sorry man, I just figured you'd be meeting up with Maria."

"I'll let it slide providing you bring home some of your Ma's homemade treats."

"Don't I always?" Scott snorted. Anytime he visited his mum he returned home with his arms full of dishes containing an assortment of food.

"Yeah but you're taking Glynis the Glutton there to visit," he pointed at Rachel. "I'm pretty sure she can eat more than he two of us combined."

"Hey…." Rachel scowled at him.

"Just make sure you put away a goody bag for me before she starts tucking in," Punk ordered his friend, ignoring her protest.

"Sure thing man," Scott chuckled. "Anyways, you wanting a lift to the hotel or you gonna catch a cab?"

"Dude, I'm wearing a sweater that's like six years old and you think I have spare cash to waste on cabs?"

"Lift it is," Scott inclined his head, then guided them towards where his car was parked in the parking lot.

"I call shotgun," Rachel yelled.

"You're too small to call shotgun," Punk shouted, "Only those over five foot and not requiring a booster seat are eligible." She shoved him, causing him to trip lightly over his feet.

"I'm five foot four, numpty. And I called it first," she skipped in front and stuck her tongue out at him. "I may be Scottish, but I know the rules."

"She's right, dude," Scott concurred.

"Right that's it," Punk declared, stopping dead in the middle of the car park and throwing his bags down, causing them to turn and stare at him.

"Get out of my city," he pointed to Rachel. "This is _my _weekend. My _Wrestlemania _weekend and you're _ruining _it," he huffed.

"By calling shotgun?" she asked innocently, struggling to keep her face straight.

"Yes," he pretended to pout. "I haven't seen Colt in ages and I barely have seventy two hours back home, most of which is highly likely to be taken up by Maria and 'Mania - so for the twenty minute ride to the hotel, I'd really just like to catch up with him."

"Aw Punk, if it means that much to you, you can sit up beside Scott," she patted his head, "Just don't let me see you feeling his knees up or I'll be letting Maria know she has a rival for your affections," she wagged a mocking finger at him.

"Enough," he swatted her hand away, "I'm hungry, cranky and haven't had a Pepsi in hours. Lets be going," he motioned for them to keep moving.

"You heard the man," she patted Scott on the butt, "He needs his rocket fuel, Let's go," she hopped ahead, urging them on. Thrilled to finally be stepping foot in the Windy City.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter 10 : Our lives are defined by moments! Especially ones we never see coming!_**

**_A/N - So, the T key on my laptop is a bit dodgy atm, I have tried my best to be thorough and correct any missing T's in the chaper but I'm sure there's probably 1 or 2 I've missed...I'm apologising in advance for this :-) Thanks for new review and follows. Very much appreciated. Thanksssssss_**

"Oh my lord, I feel like a beached whale," Rachel groaned, rubbing her stomach.

Her and Scott were currently lying atop Punks bed, in the apartment he sporadically shared with Scott whenever he returned to Chicago. They were taking turns to complain about how full they were, having arrived home thirty minutes ago from dinner at the Coltons'. The top button of her jeans was undone, and she had pulled her vest up so that it sat like a sports bra. Her bloated tummy needed all the room it could get to breathe.

"Yeah, I think my mum misunderstood me when I told her my Scottish friend was coming to dinner. I think she took it to mean the entire population of Scotland was coming to eat."

"Sooooooo much food. So much _goooood _food," she heaved a sigh. "Honestly, I would consider becomming a Jew just for the food."

"Hmmm, can't see my Rabbi allowing you to convert for that reason somehow."

"You have a Rabbi?"

"No," he laughed, "Not one that would recognise me anyway. Can't even remember last time I set foot in a synagogue."

"You're a bad Jew," she playfully scolded him.

"And you're a bad Christian, when was he last time you were in a Church?" he countered.

"A couple of months ago when my mum came to visit," she told him. "She don't miss her Sunday service no matter what Country she's in or what Continent she's on."

"Ah, can't believe I missed Mama Cooks visit," he turned towards her and used his elbow to support his head. He'd visited her family many times when they had been travelling around the UK together and had grown to love the formidable Mrs Cook.

"Both my parents came. Paul too."

"The Cooks do America," he sniggered. "I bet you miss them like hell huh?"

"Pretty much," she bit her lip, "I've been close, so many times, to just packing it all in and flying home."

"What stopped you?" he asked.

"Lots of different things," she shrugged. "Waking up every morning and getting to go be trained by the likes of Dusty Rhodes and Arn Anderson. Working with Punk. Seeing the photo of my Granddad every time I open my purse and knowing how much he'd be popping for me right now if he were here. Mostly it's just my own sheer will and determination. I'm too stubborn to quit. It's gotten easier over time though. And getting to attend my very first live Wrestlemania this Sunday, is just the cherry on top of the pudding," she grinned over at him. "Especially after the week I've had," she added.

"Bad week?"

"Not bad, just kinda weird."

"In what way?"

"I dunno…I had a drunken bust up with Punk, Beth left, Brent Albright asked me out and Serena had a go at me for…I dunno…spending too much time with Punk and not paying attention to what everyone else was up to…"

"Woah woah woah….slow down a minute," he held a hand up, "Albright asked you out? Like, on a date?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "We went for coffee on Tuesday and then he took me to dinner last night after the show."

"Rach, you know he's married, right?"

"Yeah, he told me. They're separated though. He's just waiting on his divorce coming through."

"Uh…okay. Just be careful. Married guys come with a hellova lot of baggage," he warned.

"Oh, I'll be fine," she brushed him off, "It's nothing too serious between us, I only went out with him to wipe the smirk off Punks face. Plus, with Beth leaving and Serena basically giving me shit for always being with Punk, I thought it wouldn't hurt to get to know more people."

"I guess…" he trailed of.

"Anyway, CC, we've been talking about me all night. Let's hear more about you," she turned on her side and faced him. "You've just came back a tour of the UK, right? How's all my boys doing at 1pw?"

"They're all good. They send their love. On this tour I was working the tag team division. Burridge was my partner. We were called Team SHAG," he told her with a little grin on his face.

She cleared her throat. "Team SHAG?"

"Yep. Stood for Street Hooligans Adventure Gang," he said, trying to look as innocent as he could.

"Sure it did," she looked at him suspiciously. "Nothing at all to do with the fact shag means sex in Britain."

"Not at all," he feigned ignorance. "How would I know that? I'm an American. What would I know about you Brits and you're weird interpretations of the English language?"

"You mean the language we invented?"

"Meh," he shrugged and they both laughed.

The sound of someone coming in the front door made them freeze and look at each other in horror. There was only one other person with a key to the apartment and they were currently lying on top of his bed. They hadn't expected him home.

"Guys?" he called from the sitting room.

"Through here Punk," Scott shouted, earning himself a "what are you doing?" look from Rachel. He shrugged in response.

"Why are you two sprawled out on my bed?" Punk asked as he stood in the door way to his room.

"Um….." Rachel floundered.

"We thought you'd be staying with Maria tonight," Scott tried to explain.

"Nah, she was giving me grief over something or another so I just left. Can't be assed arguing. And that still doesn't clarify why you guys are in my room. What's wrong with your room?" he asked Scott.

"Uh…well, you see…..we had a lot to eat at my moms….."

A look of complete and utter bewilderment adorned Punks face but he didn't say anything, just cocked his head to the side and waited for Scott to continue.

"And we kinda figured we'd have a lot of….well, gas….."

Punk raised his eyebrow, "You're using my room to fart in?"

"Well, we didn't think you'd be back tonight and we didn't wanna stink out my room when we both have to sleep in there" Scott laughed.

"Are you kiddin' me right now? Is this what you do when I'm down in Kenucky?" he asked, eyes wide in indignation. "Turn my room into your own version of a gas chamber?"

"Oh Punk, don't get your knickers in a twist, it was my idea," Rachel interjected. "And we did open the window."

"Yeah, because it would've been so difficult to open the one in his room instead," he sulked, pointing at Cabana.

"Get over it already," she commanded, "And come tell us how your night was," she shimmied across the bed closer to Scott and patted the space inviting Punk do lie down.

"My night sucked donkey balls," he flopped down beside them. "Maria had a go at me about….well…I'm not really sure what it was about. Soon as the nagging started I zoned out," he sighed. "I did see Jimmy Hart in the hotel lobby on my way out though. That was sorta cool."

This brought forth an excited little yelp from Rachel. The boys both turned and looked at her.

"What? It's exciting. Wrestlemania," she said wistfully. "Never thought I'd see the day."

Punk scoffed and Scott playfully shoved her. A phone rang from one of the other rooms.

"That's me," Rachel struggled in her bloated state to get up. She exited the room and left the boys talking amongst themselves about Punks up and coming Wrestlemania debut. A short while later, they heard a shriek followed by her yelling, "NO, NO, NO," at the top of her lungs. They both bolted off the bed and shot through to the sitting room.

When they entered she was on the sofa, knees pulled up to her chest, head in one hand crying hysterically, and repeatedly shouting down the phone, "What happened?", but it was obvious in her distress that she wasn't listening to whoever was on the other end of line. Punk sat on the coffee table near her and Scott sat beside her on the sofa, touching her leg to let her know they were there. She looked up. She was shaking from head to toe, her whole face was red and blotchy, her eyes were already swollen and her lips puffy and trembling uncontrollably. Punk grabbed a box of tissues from beside him and held them out to her. She missed the gesture so Scott reached out and took one, then leaned over and began dabbing her eyes with it. It had a considerable soothing affect on her. Her loud wails calmed into deep gulping sobs.

"I have to go," she whispered, almost inaudibly, a few minutes later to her caller and hung up.

"Rach?" Scott asked softly, taking her hand in his.

"M-m-my D-d-dad," she stuttered, "He's…D-d-dead. My d-dad's dead. Oh my god, my dad's dead. He's dead." she howled and began bawling again.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter 11: Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die.**_

**_A/N: This chapter fluctuates in time from 31_****_st_****_ March 2006 - 10h April 2006. Hope it's not confusing!_**

**Monday 10****th**** April 2006**

_Brian James Cook, 56, beloved husband to Beverley, much loved father of Gary, Liam, Paul and Rachel, brother to Isabel, Alfie and Sandra, doting grandfather of Samantha, Ryan and Zack. Passed away at home on Friday 31__st__ March 2006. A sensitive and caring man whose sparkle touched so many, never to be forgotten. "We shall never see his like again"_

Rachel had memorised the words from the obituary and as she stood as his graveside surrounded by the rest of her family, she repeated them over and over in her head in a bid to try and force the events of the past ten days to sink in…..

…...

On the very day that Punk and Rachel had flew into Chicago, her dad had woken up and complained of heartburn to his wife, Beverley. She gave him a couple of antacids, then left to go to the newsagents and collect the morning papers, leaving him in front of the television with a cup of coffee and two slices of toast. It was their usual weekday morning routine. By the time she returned, it was too late. Her husband had suffered a major heart attack and passed away. His coffee and toast were untouched.

By the time Rachel's brother Gary had called her with the news, her fathers body had already been taken to the coroners and her mum had been given a sedative from the local doctor to calm her down. It sent her into a deep sleep. Her brothers and their partners had then congregated in the sitting room of the family home and argued amongst themselves who should be the one to call their youngest sibling and break the news. No one wanted the task of informing their only sister who was thousands of miles away across the Atlantic, that their father had been taken from them so suddenly. It would break her heart. It broke all their hearts.

Eventually it was decided that Gary, as the eldest, should be the one to let her know. It took him a good couple of hours from the decision being made to actually making the call though. He needed to work up to it. Prepare. But it didn't matter how much preparation he did. At the end of the day, she would be grief stricken whichever way he broke the news and however he worded it.

It had taken Scott and Punk several hours to calm her down and get her speaking coherently again. During this time, they had taken turns to sit and hold her hand or hug her and while one of them was comforting her, the other was making phone calls. Scott had called Gary back to offer his condolences and discuss what to do about Rachel. They decided between them that because of the distressing circumstances, Scott would travel to Scotland with her and that he was to book the next available flight to either Glasgow or Edinburgh. It didn't really matter which one. The family lived in Edinburgh but it was only a short drive to Glasgow. Her brother offered to fully reimburse him for the inconvenience, but Scott in a complete side step from his normal tight fisted self, said that he wouldn't hear of it.

Punk was equally as practical as his best friend and had phoned Dusty to arrange for her time off from training. He also called Serena and explained why her roommate wouldn't be coming home anytime soon. Both had sent their love and deepest sympathy to the blonde Scot and her family.

Scott and Rachels flight took off at lunch time on the Saturday afternoon. Punk had suggested that he too go with them, but Rachel, who was a little more her own self again by this time, had told him in no uncertain terms that if he even thought about missing his Wrestlemania moment for her, she would shave his head and "wax his ball sack in the most painful way imaginable." And for once, he hadn't argued back.

He just hugged her and told her that he was sorry for her loss.

…...

Scott stayed less than forty eight hours with the family. If he hadn't been due to fly out to Japan the Friday following her fathers death, he would've stayed until after the funeral. But the Japanese bookers were unlikely to see "I can't come because my friends dad died" as a plausible excuse for missing the tour and his credibility with them would have ended up in the garbage can. And for an Indy wrestler trying to make his mark in the world, losing your credibility was tantamount to career suicide.

Fortunately, Rachel was a wrestler too and understood better than anyone why he couldn't stay.

"Besides, I'm with my family now. All the people I want to be with right now are here," she smiled sadly at him as her words contradicted her heart. The only person she really wanted there right now was her dad.

"Well, if you don't need me…" he joked.

"You know what I mean CC," she hugged his arm as they sat side by side on her mothers settee. "You've been great. I couldn't have asked for a better friend than you. There's not that many people that would've flown all the way from Chicago to Edinburgh with just their friend. I really can't ever thank you enough for what you've done for me these past few days. Punk too. If you guys hadn't been there…." she gave a slight shudder as she tried to imagine how differently things would've turned out if she'd been on her own when she got the news.

"Don't even think like that kid," he flung an arm around her and rubbed her shoulders. "We were there and thank god for that is all I'm gonna say." He looked at his watch and noted the time. "Think I need to head to the airport soon."

"I'll come with you," she said.

"Nah, it's fine. You stay here and spend time with your mom. Paul's gonna drop me off."

"You sure? I feel kinda bad just leaving you to your own devices after all you've done for me"

"Sure am sure. Your mom needs you."

"Love you," she hugged him tightly.

"Love ya more," he kissed the top of her head.

…...

The Sunday night before the funeral, the whole family were assembled round the table in the dining room with plates of uneaten food in front of them. The following days service was playing heavily on everyone's mind, and despite their mums best attempt at cooking an appetising meal for them, no one felt like eating. The chicken got stuck in their throat, and after only a few forkfuls, they each gave up any pretence of trying and laid their forks down.

"Robertson scored a cracker th'day eh," Paul attempted a conversation with his oldest brother.

"Aye, aye. He did," Gary sighed absently and the room was silent again.

"Who's top of the league now?" Rachel asked.

"Celtic," Paul, a Heart of Midlothian fan answered, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"I s'port Celtic," her four year old neice Samantha pipped up. "Daddy s'ports them and Grandad Brian s'ports them so they must be the best," the four year old informed them wisely.

At the mention of her dads name, Rachel felt a fleeting stabbing pain in her heart. Her elder brother and his wife had told her that her Grandfather was away a little holiday and that's why they were all staying with Granny. They were trying to find the right way to explain death to her.

"Is Gran coming tomorrow mum?" Rachel asked.

"No," her mother shook her head. "She's still getting over this chest infection she had a few weeks back. Billy and Doreen are coming though," she told her, referring to her own brother and his wife, Rachel's Aunt and Uncle.

"I might go see her Tuesday," she thought out loud.

"She'll be wondering why you haven't been round already. There was a time when you were younger, we couldn't keep you away from her house."

Rachel smiled fondly at the memories of her youth, when her grandfather was still alive.

"That Granddad of yours…." her mum rolled her eyes. "Had three big strapping grandsons that he could've done that wrestling malarky with, but no, not him… he had to go and encourage my only daughter…"

"Mum, not now eh?" Liam put a hand over hers to placate her. "What's been and gone is done. Rachel made her choice. Just like I did when I wanted to be a teacher, or when Gary wanted to be a lawyer. Or when Paul decided he wanted to be a good for nothing bum….."

"Hoi!" The unemployed youngest son interrupted as the rest of the family laughed around him. "I'm in between jobs," he feebly attempted to defend himself which caused them all to laugh louder. "A'right, a'right, I'm just waitin' for Our Rachel to hit the big time wi' the WWE so she can employ me as her PA," he joked.

"You should be so lucky," she grinned, "I'd maybe employ you to carry my bags from city to city."

The doorbell rang. Paul, nearest the door, got up to answer it. "Aye, well…so long as I get to rub shoulders wi' thon hot Divas, I'm sound," he quipped as he left the room, leaving his family giggling in his wake.

"Rach…." he called from the hallway, "It's for you."

She got up and went to the front door, wondering who on earth it could possibly be. An old school friend perhaps? She hadn't exactly spent much time in this area since she was 18, most of her friends were in England, or America.

"Oh my god, what the fuck have you done to your hair?" she asked immediately upon setting eyes on her mystery visitor.

"I fucking dyed it you cheeky wench," CM Punk scowled at her. "And yeah, it's nice to see you too."

…...

"Okay this is totally surreal," Rachel sat back against a propped up pillow. "You're here. Like here here. In my bed, in my home, in Edinburgh. Like, you're in fuckin' Scotland. This is so _weird_."

"You say the sweetest things," he held a hand over his heart mockingly.

"I just can't believe you're _here."_

"Just thought I'd pop over and see how you're doin'?" he shrugged, as if he'd simply walked a block to see her rather than made a four thousand mile trip.

"Seriously though, what the fuck is with the blonde locks?" she asked him, evading his question.

"Just though I'd try it," he sighed. "'Ria's been on at me to do something with my hair, so I dyed it…well….Kim did."

"You sure she didn't just mean for you to get it cut?"

"That's _exactly _what she meant and there ain't no hope in hell I'm doing that so I just thought I'd piss her off even more."

"Such a lucky gal," she teased him. "And I bet she was just thrilled to hear that you're ex done it for you too."

"Yeah," he laughed. "But telling her that I was using my vacation days to come here and see you, well, that was just the nail in the coffin."

"What do you mean?"

"We broke up on Friday," he replied, acting like it was nothing.

"You're an idiot."

"Gee thanks."

"Why would you even come here if it was gonna break you guys up?"

"Hey, we were already on our way to See-ya-laters-ville before I even decided I was coming here. Ever since she got her call up, she'd been badgering me left, right and centre…change this,,,change that….don't say this….say that…." he explained. "She's not the same girl she was at OVW and if she even thinks she can change one thing about me, then she _clearly _doesn't know me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise things were like that. You okay?"

"I'll live. More importantly, are you okay?"

She thought for a few seconds, "I'll live," she whispered, with a little less conviction than he did.

…...

"In the name of God, the merciful father, we commit the body of Brian to the peace of the grave. From dust you came, to dust you shall return. Jesus Christ is the resurrection and the life."

She stepped forward and laid a single white rose on top of the coffin, stumbling slightly as her legs gave way. Punk, who'd been at her side the whole time was quick to catch her.

"Give him o Lord, your peace and let your eternal light shine upon him. Amen"

The crowd dispersed and Rachel, unable to face the pitiful looks, turned and hugged Punk.

"I'm so glad that you were here," she murmered into his neck.

"Anytime" he whispered back. "You okay?" he asked her slightly concerned that she hadn't shed one single tear throughout the whole service.

"I'm….." she shook her head as she stepped back from him. She had yet to find the word to describe how she felt.

"I know," he put an arm around her shoulder and started walking behind the rest of the congregation.

"It doesn't feel real," she told him. "I feel like someone blew a great big bubble and I got caught at the centre of it. I can see all this stuff happening but I can barely hear anything 'cos I'm in the bubble and because I can't hear so well, it's not registering in my brain. Like, what is actually happening isn't sinking in."

"I guess it's the grief," he responded, at a loss of anything better to say.

"I was sitting in the church before and the priest was saying all these wonderful things my mum had told him to say about my dad - how great a father he was, how much of a doting grandpa he was, what great work he done with the local youth football team - and all I could think about was the time when I was like, six and we were sat at the table for our Christmas lunch and after carving the turkey he done this funny little stretch, pointed to the wall and let out this great big huge fart," she laughed as the memory came to mind again. "My brothers and I were in hysterics. Peeing ourselves laughing. But mum was so mad, she got up and left the table."

"I can imagine," Punk chuckled.

"I can't remember what happened after that but isn't it weird….my dad is dead and all I can think about at his funeral is a time when he farted."

"It was a memory. Nothing wrong with that," he assured her.

"At my Grandads funeral, I was hysterical. Literally, howling so much no one could hear the priest. My mum made Gary take me outside and I missed the whole thing."

"You were younger then,"

"I guess... I just thought I'd have been the same today. At my dad's funeral," she shrugged. "D'ya think it means I loved him less? Than my grandad?"

"Not even," Punk shook his head, "You were barely a teenager when you're Grandad died, it's a heck of a lot more different and difficult to deal with death as a kid than to dealing with it as an adult. You're more grown up now, is all."

"My mum cried like a baby."

"She was married to the man for thirty odd years, it's a bit different for her."

"You think?"

"I do."

"I just wish I had just one more day with him," she told him as he draped an arm over her shoulder. "One more day of being his daughter."

"I wish I could help…."

"You are helping, just by being here," she wrapped her arm around his waist. His presence by her side had been an overwhelming comfort to her.

"I come in handy sometimes then?"

"Yeah, I guess you're not a complete waste of space."


	12. Chapter 12

**_Chapter 12: Family is not an important thing….It's EVERYTHING!_**

**_A/N: KateKayfabe: Thanks for your lovely review in the last chapter, it is nice to actually read what something thinks of my story and to know they are enjoying it. Your words were uplifting x_**

When Rachel woke up the morning after the funeral, she was briefly puzzled as to where she was. It had been the first night in two weeks that she'd gotten a decent sleep and she'd been in such a deep slumber that when she woke, for a few blissful seconds, she'd forgotten everything that had happened and had expected to wake on Punks futon, in his sitting room, as per usual.

As her eyes began to focus more clearly, the vase filled with fresh Sweetpeas that sat on her bedside chest facing her, told her that she was back in her old bed, in her old room, at her parents house in Edinburgh. The second that she established that fact, all the memories of the past fortnight came flooding back and she was overwhelmed, again, by the intensity of her loss.

She sat up quickly and frantically rubbed her head, willing the tears that threatened to spill, not to. There'd already been enough of that recently and the last thing she wanted to do was upset her mum even more by going down to breakfast with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. She had to hold it together for her mums sake.

After taking a few deep breaths, she glanced around her bedroom trying to find something to distract her from thoughts of her dad.

The room had remained pretty much unaltered since she'd moved to the States the previous year. Same red tartan curtains and matching bed spread. Same red paint and carpet. The Macho Man framed print that she'd received for her 12th birthday still hung above the top of her bed and was still in tact, as were all the other posters dotted about the room - Roddy Piper, a still of Hogan standing toe to toe with Andre the Giant, Sensational Sherrie, the Legion of Doom, Shawn Michaels and "The British Bulldog" Davey Boy Smith. The room hadn't changed since she was in her teens. Her mum obviously still came in to clean it because there wasn't a lick of dust about the place, there was fresh flowers in the vase and the bed covers smelt freshly laundered.

She smiled at the thought of her mum being the proverbial mother hen. All but one of her chicks had flown the nest but each of them, at any time, could come back home and it would be as if they'd never left. Their beds would be made up and waiting for them and there was always, _always_ enough food for them, and then some. Beverely Cook had never gotten the hang of only cooking for three - with four growing kids in her household, she'd always made enough to feed the five thousand. Mostly, these days, left overs were ladled into plastic containers and sent round to one or both of her sons and their families.

The sound of pots and pans crashing in the kitchen stopped Rachels thoughts in their tracks and it was only then that she realised Punk wasn't in the z bed her mum had made up for him when he showed up two nights ago. Sensing that he had something to do with the racket going on downstairs, she got out of bed and threw on one of his hoodies. Even in springtime, there was still a nip in the air in the Scottish capital..

"Oh my god," she gasped upon entering the kitchen, stunned at the sight that met her eyes.

"Good morning sunshine," Punk, who was standing by the cooker, turned and smiled at her.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Making breakfast."

"You can't cook," she stated boldly, her eyebrows hitting the ceiling with surprise.

"I can manage eggs and bacon," he rolled his eyes. "Sit," he ordered, signalling for her to take a seat in the adjoining dining room. "I'll get you coffee."

"Okay. Where is Punk and what have you done with him?"

"Ha ha."

"What's with all of this," she waved her hand at the table that had been laid for breakfast.

"Just thought I'd do something nice for you guys, you've all had a rough couple of weeks," he shrugged.

"Nice? _Nice?_ You don't do _nice_ Punk, it brings you out in hives. You're already looking pretty pale and sweaty from the effort."

"I can do it in small doses," he chuckled. "Ah, Mrs C, good morning," he greeted Rachel's mum with a hug as she entered the kitchen.

"Oh, morning' Philip." She refused to call him Punk since she'd first met him in Louisville. "Mornin' sweetie," she kissed her daughter. "What's going on here then?" she sat next to Rachel and Punk busied himself making her a pot of tea.

"Punks making us breakfast," Rachel smiled.

"He is? How lovely. I'm not really sure I can eat anything though. A cup of tea will do me."

"Oh mum please try and eat something," Rachel begged her. "You've barely eaten for days."

"Neither have you Rachel."

"I know," she said softly, "But we all need to keep our strength up. I don't think Dad would be very happy with us starving ourselves. Besides, Punks cooking for us, that never happens. We need to make the most of this once in a lifetime happening."

"Well maybe I'll try a bit of something."

"Did you manage to sleep last night."

Her mum nodded. "It was better having Sammy cuddled in beside me," she told her referring to her granddaughter who had stayed the night along with her parents.

"She still asleep?"

"No, I'm here," the four year old entered the room rubbing her eyes and sat on her aunts lap. "Someone was making a lot of noise."

"Good morning gorgeous girl," Rachel gave her a squeezy hug. Not being close to her niece and nephews was the worst thing about living in America. "That would've been Punk, he's making us breakfast."

"Punk? Granny said he was called Philip. Punks a stupid name," she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"I may be through here but I can still here every word you say," the man in question grunted from the kitchen.

"Punk's not his real name honey, that's his wrestling name. CM Punk. His real name's Philip but no one ever calls him that except your Gran."

"What's your wrestling name Auntie Rachel?"

"Well its usually Raquel Courtez, but sometimes it changes depending on the company I'm working for."

"I like Raquel. Doesn't sound stupid like Punk."

"Wash your mouth out kid," Punk warned jokingly.

"Sammy don't be rude," her grandmother scolded.

"Sorry _Philip_," the youngster apologised, testing him.

When he said nothing, Rachel whispered into her nieces ear, "You are honoured. He won't even let me call him Philip." They shared a conspiratory giggle.

Just then Gary, walked in with his wife, Molly, who was holding eight month old baby Zack. They were shortly followed by Paul. The family arranged themselves around the table, with Rachel swapping Sammy for Zack.

"Rach, yer mans cooking," Gary thumbed through at Punk

"He's just my friend and yes, he is," she replied vaguely, too wrapped up in nuzzling her beautiful nephew.

"Mornin' Cooks," he waved through at them as he set about plating up their breakfast.

He passed through their meals and when he was done, took a seat next to Paul with his own. Silence descended on the room.

They all took one look at their food, then simultaneously turned and looked at Punk.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

"Dude, what the hell is that?" Paul daringly sniffed the food.

"Eggs Benedict."

"Never heard of it," Gary shook his head and pushed the plate away.

"Its English breakfast muffin, poached eggs, bacon and hollandaise sauce."

"Sounds weird," Paul remarked.

"Can I have ketchup granny?"

"Aye, there's some in the cupboard sweetie." The youngster got up and fetched it. Once she'd drowned her breakfast in it, her Uncle proceeded to do the same.

Molly was the first to sample Punks cooking.

"Oh its delicious, thanks Philip," she smiled at him and continued to eat the rest. Her seal of approval encouraged the rest of them to try it and before long they were all tucking in with gusto except Rachel who was still too caught up in entertaining her nephew to eat.

"So Phil…mind if ah call you Phil?" Gary asked.

"I'd rather you called me Punk. Everyone else does. Phil doesn't sit to well with me," he explained.

"Okay. So Punk, you intae this wrestling craziness like ma wee sister here?"

"Yeah, I'm just as crazy as her."

"Aye, ye'd hae tae be tae dae some o' the stuff you's dae. Flinging yourselves oaf they ropes 'n oan tae the flare"

Just at that moment Rachel looked up and saw the complete bewilderment etched on Punks face as he tried to translate her brothers broad Scottish accent. He was used to her watered down version, that she'd had to work on so that people understood her better. Her brothers called it her posh voice.

"You wi' the WWE tae Punk?" Paul asked as he polished off his meal.

"Yeah, I started just before Rach did."

"Wrestled anyone famous before then?"

"A few old school guys, no one that famous. Well, Eddie Guerrero, I guess."

"The Mexican dude?"

"Yeah."

"Cool," Paul nodded his approval. "So, where abouts in America you from?"

"Guys, quit with the inquisition. Leave Punk alone to enjoy his breakfast," Rachel told her brothers.

"God sakes, we're just bein' polite…"

"It's fine Rach," Punk told her.

"No it's not, by the time these two are finished with you they'll have you're entire life story in every minute detail. So no more questions," she ordered. "Mum, what are you doing today?"

"I think I have to start sorting out all your dads financial stuff," she sighed wearily. "His insurance policies and….."

"Nae worries mum, I'll help ye wi aw that," Gary assured her.

"I'm going to go round and see Granny," Rachel told them. "Wanna come Punk?"

"Sure, why not."

…...

"Oh, it's so good to see you dear," Violet Forrest's eyes watered as she clasped her granddaughters hand to her chest.

"I'm so sorry I didn't come sooner," Rachel leaned in and pecked her cheek. "I just…."

"Oh don't apologise. I understand. It must have been a wee bit of a shock eh?"

"Yeah."

"And way before his time too," the elder woman's voice wobbled, obviously saddened at the passing of her son-in-law. "Anyway come in, come in…" she held the door to let them past.

"Granny this is my friend Pun…I mean Philip. Philip this is my Gran, Mrs Forrest"

"Oh hello Philip dear, nice to meet you," she shook his hand politely.

"You too, ma'am."

"Is this your young man Rachel?"

"No Granny he's just a friend," she chuckled as they took their seat on the sofa. "We work together."

"Oh I see. So still no boyfriend then?" the woman, anxious to see her granddaughter settled down, enquired.

"No Gran. No boyfriend."

"And young Danny, how's he?"

"I have no idea," she shrugged. "I haven't spoken to him since I left to go to the States."

"Such a shame that. He was a lovely boy."

"So how have you been Gran?" Rachel tactfully changed the subject. "Mum said you'd had a chest infection?"

"Aye, aye I did. Well, at my age you get whatever bugs are doing the rounds so no sooner do I get over one then I get another," the old lady complained, "Anyone want a cuppa? I bought some of that coffee since them Americans have probably got you drinking it by the bucket load."

"I drank that long before I went to live there," Rachel laughed, "But. Yeah, coffee would be great."

"And for you Philip?"

"Coffee please," Punk, who'd been enjoying the exchanged between Rachel and her Gran, spoke up. "Can I give you a hand?"

"How lovely. Yes, Philip, you can carry the tray through. My balance isn't what it used to be you know."

While Punk and her Gran were pottering about in the kitchen Rachel got up to look at the photograph's on the mantel piece. There were so many that it seemed quite cluttered but her Gran was obviously as house proud as her mum was because there wasn't a speck of dust to be seen amongst them. She glanced at each one briefly and felt a little tug on her heart when she came to one of her Dad. This would be the only way she'd be seeing him from now on. Photographically. The thought almost made her pass out so she forced herself to look away from the picture.

Finally, she came across the one she was looking for, and carefully picked it up just as Punk re-entered the room carrying a tray laden with cups of tea and coffee and a plate of freshly baked cakes. Her Gran followed close behind him with another plate filled with sandwich's.

"Gran you didn't have to go to all this trouble for us."

"It's only a few sandwich's and a some fairy cakes Rachel," she scoffed. "And you are my only granddaughter and I don't get to see you very often these days so if I wanna lay on a little afternoon tea then I will. Although how it can be called afternoon tea when you two are drinking coffee, I dunno."

"I think what Rachel means to say is thank you, dontcha Rach?" Punk grinned at her sweetly as he took a tea plate and selected some sandwich's. Rachel bit back a sharp retort about him sucking up to her Gran.

"Yes, thank you," she rubbed her Grans arm then took a plate and placed a sandwich on it but made no effort to eat it. Death has a way of sapping your appetite. She'd barely had two bites of the eggs benedict Punk had cooked for breakfast earlier that morning.

"What have you got there?" the elderly woman asked pointing to the framed photo in Rachels hand.

"Oh, Punk, I wanted to show you this," she passed it to him. As soon as he looked at it, he burst out laughing. The picture was of her dressed as the "Macho Man" Randy Savage one Halloween when she was a little kid. She wore tight pink trousers and yellow wellingtons books in a bid to imitate her hero's ring gear from the first time she'd watched him. Her Gran had made her a sparkly robe with a matching bandana and the whole look was topped of with her mums huge black sunglasses that had been so large on her, they'd had to be cello taped to her head.

"What one is it?" Mrs Forrest was interested to know. Punk handed it over to her and a wide grin broke out across her face. "You were only six here," she told Rachel.

"I know."

"All this time and you're just as mad about this wrestling thing today as you were back then," she shook her head. "That Grandpa of yours has a lot to answer for."

Rachel didn't reply to her remark. She'd heard it a thousand times before from both her mother and grandmother and had discovered that the easiest way to deal with it was to just let it slide.

"Actually, I have something you may like," her Gran suddenly stood up, "Come with me. You too Philip, I'll need a hand to get it down."

They followed her up the stairs and into the spare bedroom where Rachel and her brothers used to sleep when they stayed over. She pointed to a box on top of the wardrobe and asked Punk to take it down. When he did, he put it on one of the single beds and stepped back to let Rachel have a look inside.

"Oh my god," she cried as she reached in and pulled out the first thing she'd laid her eye's on. It was a Summerslam '92 programme - the one and only WWE event her granddad had ever taken her to. "I didn't realise he'd kept it," she turned and showed Punk.

"You went to this?" he asked, stunned that she'd never mentioned it before.

She nodded and absently flicked through the pages. "He bought me the tickets for my tenth birthday. We stayed in London the whole weekend just the two of us. It was amazing. Probably the best holiday of my whole life."

"You saw Davey Boy Smith beat Bret Hart in one of the best IC title matches of all time? You saw that live?" he asked, still in awe at the revelation.

"Well, we were way at the back of the stadium so ended up watching most of it on the screen anyway, but, yeah, I was there."

"She even had a Union Jack skirt to support The Bulldog," her Gran chimed in. "It's in there too," she told Rachel, who went back to the box and pulled out more items, including the skirt.

"What are all these video tapes?" Punk asked, having a nose inside it.

"I guess it's all the stuff we watched when I was little. He knew a few of the old time British promoters who gave him tapes to watch. Gran, where did all this stuff come from?"

"The attic. Liam and Paul came round sometime last year to clear it out and lay new flooring and found all this. I never even knew it was there. I'd almost forgotten about it until you were showing Philip that photograph just now. The costume you had on in it is in that box."

Rachel sat on the bed and pulled out more odds and ends. To anyone else, it probably just looked liked any old bric a brac, but to her they were bits and pieces that formed her childhood and were currently taking her on a trip down memory lane. Ticket stubs from her very first live wrestling show, programmes from local events they'd attended, photographs of her and a few British wrestlers, bits and pieces of old Halloween costumes her Grandmother had made - Macho Man hadn't been the only wrestler she'd ever dressed up as. Each item had a story behind it, and every one of those involved her and her Granddad. He'd been her best friend throughout her younger years, right up until he died when she was eleven. Only a year after they'd gone to Summerslam together.

"You can keep it," her Gran spoke softly, stroking Rachel's hair. She'd witnessed first hand the closeness of her husband and granddaughter and knew how upsetting this box of momentos would be to Rachel.

"Are you sure?"

"It's yours anyway," she told her, holding up a letter Rachel had written to Roddy Piper aged nine. Her Granddad had promised to post it for her. There was no address, or envelope for that matter.

"Thank you," she croaked, on the verge of ears again.

"Just as well you brought Philip here," her Gran stood up and gently started packing the things away. "He can carry this home for you. Those muscles of yours aren't just ornamental are they young man?"

…...

"You're Gran is now officially my favourite person. I've never met anyone like her in my life."

"I bet she'd say the same about you," Rachel laughed as they took a stroll through the park on their way back to her mums.

"I wish my family were more like yours," he confided.

"You wouldn't be CM Punk if they were. You'd be all happy and at ease with life. It'd be weird. A non-rebellious Punk," she shuddered mockingly at the thought.

She'd heard the story about how his brother screwed him over and how his parents took his brothers side. It had been one big, messy ordeal that led to Punk separating himself from his family. The only relatives Punk really had and cared for these days were his younger sisters.

"You're a little bit rebellious too lady. Fuckin' off to America to pursue your dream of becoming a wrestler, when it's obviously the last thing on earth your mum wants you to be."

"Ah but that as it may be, however much she hates me doing "this wrestling thing" as she calls it, she's always supported me. One hundred and ten per cent. Her and my dad."

"Your lucky. I wouldn't know parental support if it smacked me in the face."

"You don't need it," she assured him firmly. "Look at everything you've achieved in your career without them - you've been to the top of every Indy promotion you've worked for and you're the King of OVW at the moment. And I'm sure, soon enough, you're gonna be called up to one of the main rosters and will become the number one face or heel there."

"We'll see," he muttered grimly. The truth of it was that he was nervous of getting his call up. At OVW, like Rachel said, he was the top guy but even then he'd had a fight to get there. Neither Arn or Dusty were fans of his, and even Jim Ross, who often popped in to keep an eye on things, found a lot to criticise when it came to his work/ look/ persona. The only one who seemed to be in his corner was Paul Heyman, who wrote the scripts for OVW TV. But he wouldn't even have Heymans back up when he got transferred to either ECW, Raw or Smackdown and for the first time in his career he felt a little bit uncertain.

"Can we sit for a sec, this thing weighs a ton," he asked and without waiting for a reply, laid the box on a nearby bench and sat down. Rachel sat beside him.

"You've gone all quiet," he remarked.

"My heads all fuzzy," she told him.

"Emotional day?"

"Emotional few weeks. And I don't think it's gonna get better anytime soon."

"It will," he said, "Eventually."

"Yeah, _eventually_," she sighed.


End file.
